


Roads Less Traveled

by helloshepard



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual But Irresponsible Use of Telepathy, Drinking, Happy Ending, Investigations, Love Triangles, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Murder Mystery, Mystery, POV Alternating, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serial Killers, Shapeshifting, Tactile Hallucinations, Telepathy, War Crimes, Wild Misinterpretations of Human Culture, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: IDW AU. On hiatus, pending major rewrite. Prowl and Cosmos head to Sanctuary Station in pursuit of a killer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Look! helloshepard is writing about a new rare pairing! I'm so surprised!"  
> -said by no one, ever
> 
> Basically, this is an IDW AU which diverges from canon just after RID #55. There are obvious references to canon here, but I'm hoping to write it in a way that makes it understandable to anyone who has little to no knowledge of the comics.

“Y’know…” Cosmos said, “It would be a lot easier if you told me what this was about.” 

Prowl didn’t bother with a response, but it wasn’t like Cosmos had been expecting one. Cosmos turned to the navicomputer and checked the coordinates for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

He stifled a sigh. 

His mission had been intended as a short supply run to Cybertron for extra Energon and parts to fix the distillery on the  _ Ark _ . He hadn’t expected to be jumped by a  _ war criminal  _ and dragged onto a ship that probably hadn’t flown since the Golden Age. 

Granted, being jumped by a war criminal and dragged onto a ship that probably hadn’t flown since the Golden Age  _ was  _ the most interesting thing that had happened to him in weeks _.  _

That fact that said war criminal was none other than his former commanding officer Prowl...Cosmos wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Cosmos hadn’t been around for the incident with Wheeljack, but according to the Autobot rumor mills, the mess with the combiners a few weeks prior was the logical conclusion to...to whatever Prowl had become. He certainly didn’t  _ seem  _ like some kind of unhinged criminal, but he also didn’t seem like  _ Prowl.  _ After all, Cosmos had never imagined Prowl as anything other than a solid, unflinching presence within Autobot Command, yet here he was: armor coated with dust, his remaining optic narrowed in suspicion, looking at Cosmos as though he were a stranger.

What Cosmos didn’t understand was why Prowl wanted to go to Sanctuary Station. Was Prowl planning to utilize his newfound status as a rogue in order to negotiate a lease on one of Soundwave’s habsuites? The notion seemed ridiculous, but it wasn’t  _ entirely _ ridiculous—Cosmos’s adventures on the  _ Lost Light  _ had thoroughly changed his outlook on the meaning of the word _.  _

But seeing Prowl alone, not surrounded by his entourage of Constructicons gave Cosmos the idea that Prowl was  _ smaller.  _ More vulnerable. It was a stupid thought, of course—Prowl was a force to be reckoned with, even without his Constructicon followers. 

“Do you miss them?” Cosmos said, without thinking. He turned to see Prowl staring, head tilted almost imperceptibly. Cosmos took that as a sign to continue. 

“The Constructicons,” Cosmos clarified. “I wasn’t part of a gestalt for long—minutes, really—but sometimes I think I still feel them.” 

“No,” Prowl snapped, optic narrowing to a sliver of annoyed blue light. “Never.” 

“Oh. Okay,” Cosmos said. “Just wondering.” 

Cosmos fought the urge to check the nav again. Soundwave knew they were coming—even if the message somehow hadn’t gone through, the Decepticon would hear their arrival long before the station came into view. 

Despite the circumstances, Cosmos was looking forward to seeing Soundwave again. Soundwave held the dubious honor of being one of the only mechs who actually _listened_ to Cosmos. Despite the fact that Cosmos was an Autobot and Soundwave was Soundwave, it felt... _nice_ to be listened to. It should be terrifying, being in such close proximity to a Decepticon with Soundwave’s reputation, but it wasn’t. Nor was it terrifying being around Prowl, official terrorist-slash-enemy of the state. 

Maybe something in his coding was glitched. Maybe his reformatting had screwed something up, erased the runtime that governed his common sense. Or maybe being on the  _ Lost Light  _ had had more of an effect on him than he thought. It was really the only explanation for the lack of terror that should be pumping through his Energon lines. 

Cosmos fidgeted in place, wishing the ship was big enough to afford privacy. Besides the cockpit, there was only a small storage area currently filled to the brim with the spare parts and unrefined Energon Cosmos insisted on bringing with them. He did have a mission to complete. 

This was just a detour. A  _ short  _ detour. He would be going back to Optimus and the other Autobots as soon as he dropped off Prowl on Sanctuary Station. Sure, he would have to explain the delay and him returning in a ship instead of via the spacebridge, but he could do it. He had lied about meeting Soundwave, had lied by omission about staying in contact with Soundwave. 

The idea of remaining on Sanctuary Station was ever-present in his mind, a topic he constantly mulled over during his patrols. Of course he couldn’t stay _this time,_ but he could always go back. Soundwave hadn’t said it was a one-time offer. There was the small matter of Cosmos consorting with Optimus, but if he left, he wouldn’t _technically_ be an Autobot any longer. 

Cosmos snuck a quick glance at Prowl. 

The other Autobot (ex-Autobot?) had kept Cosmos in his newly-limited field of vision the entire time. Prowl had always been suspicious, but now it seemed his paranoia had reached new heights. Prowl had explained as much—the apparent certainty that Cosmos was leading him into a trap, or was about to try and kill him where he stood. Directly following that had been a muttered threat about killing Cosmos where he stood. 

Cosmos wasn’t sure whether he believed him, but he wished Prowl would trust him with whatever was so important Prowl would risk coming within five lightyears of Optimus Prime.

His comlink chimed. 

Soundwave.

Cosmos shifted in place, debating whether to answer in front of Prowl. Prowl was standing straight ahead, likely absorbed in whatever scheme was the flavor of the day. Or maybe he was trying to decide if killing Cosmos would weaken his chances with whatever he planned to do with Soundwave. 

Cosmos gave up and looked down at his wrist. Soundwave’s messages were always brief, but they always,  _ always _ invited a response. Just looking at the short string of glyphs had his spark spinning. 

He would figure out what Prowl was up to eventually. For now, he was going to reply to Soundwave. 

* * *

_ Primus. _

Prowl hadn’t considered this. He should have. Considering everything had been, until very recently, his job. It  _ was  _ still his job in all but name. 

Cosmos was infatuated with a Decepticon. 

Though it could be anyone on the station, Soundwave was the most likely candidate. An untestable hypothesis at the moment, but time would tell. 

Besides driving him up the wall, the Autobot’s nervous fidgeting was a telling indicator. Prowl had been foolish to assume that Cosmos’s communications with the Decepticon were of a purely professional nature—as much as it disgusted him to admit, cross-faction relationships were becoming commonplace. His own not-relationship with the Constructicons was an example of that. 

Prowl put  _ that  _ thought out of his processor before it could go any further. A brief glance at the nav told him they were mere hours away from Sanctuary Station. 

Cosmos mumbled something under his breath, stole a quick glance at Prowl, then looked away. 

Prowl took a second to consider demanding Cosmos speak up, then decided against it. Cosmos would repeat himself it was truly important. It was far more likely Cosmos was trying to restart their earlier attempt at a conversation. A conversation he had no intention of continuing. 

Primus, Prowl would rather start a relationship with  _ Soundwave  _ than talk about the Constructicons. Or think about them. The partition in his processor that had once been devoted to gestalt programming was empty drive space now, ready to be defragmented and reassigned at any time. He had not touched the partition yet, though, and hadn’t needed to. The events of the last weeks, while undesired, had been predictable. There wasn’t yet a need for Prowl’s processors to be at maximum capacity. Not yet. 

He put the thought out of his mind when Cosmos abruptly sat up straight, looking ahead to the massive structure just beyond their ship. He had received another message—likely from Soundwave, judging by the speed at which Cosmos’s fingers had been flying across the text client. Compared to the Constructicons, Cosmos’s electromagnetic fields were muted and monochrome, but it still managed to convey the Autobot’s deep-rooted anxiety, though now it was tinged with hopeless infatuation. 

What did the mech even  _ see _ in Soundwave? Was it the assurance that the oft-ignored Autobot was being heard by Soundwave, who heard everything? Had Cosmos been seduced by the Decepticon’s professions of peace and equality? 

Regardless, it would not change Prowl’s mission. There might be more awkward attempts at conversation but if anything, it would likely make Cosmos  _ more  _ willing to help him. 

But Soundwave was not known for letting emotions get in the way of what had to be done, and Prowl could admire that. 

Ignoring the trajectory equations indicating their chances if the station decided to employ antiaircraft measures, Prowl pulled up the files on his HUD. There was nothing in the data he had not seen a thousand times before, but reading over them once more was like treading a well-worn, familiar path. It was almost like going home, and now, investigations were the closest thing he had to a home. In the weeks since his departure from the Autobots, Prowl had allowed himself to devote more time to the cold cases, files saved from his time in mechaforensics. The digitized case files were the only holdover from his life before the war, ignored for thousands of years, until he awoke in one of Rattraps bolt holes with a few shattered struts and a new abundance of free time. 

This particular investigation had followed him through the war, not from mere interest, but because it was one of the few cases that remained  _ active _ . Prowl had been on more battlefields than he could remember offhand, seen more corpses and casualties of war than he could have ever imagined. Corpses told a  _ story,  _ and among the billions killed by the warring factions, only a few had warranted further investigation. The most recent had been a rumor—a NAIL who referred to himself as Metalhead. Killed via a triple tap two decades ago, the rumors of his death spread around Maccadam’s had been enough to send Prowl on the hunt once again. He dug up the old case files pondered over the evidence while his body was being piloted around by— 

Anyway.

The full extent of Soundwave’s abilities were known only to Soundwave, but Prowl knew enough to deduce Soundwave was  _ not  _ infallible. In the gray areas between sleep and wakefulness, he half-dreamt, half-remembered the many arguments between Bombshell, Shockwave, and Soundwave. Shockwave would quell Soundwave’s hesitation. Bombshell would want to test Shockwave’s data again, to further push the limits of his control. Soundwave would protest, and the argument would begin anew. 

Prowl wasn’t stupid enough to think that Soundwave had hesitated out of some desire to prevent more discomfort on Prowl’s part—if their discussion about universe-ending Necrotitan incident had been any indication, Soundwave had merely been unwilling to reveal his limits to Shockwave, whose loyalties had always been in question. 

And now Prowl needed Soundwave’s help. The irony—if it could be called that—was unappreciated.    

Prowl would present the evidence to Soundwave and let the mech make his own deductions. Much to his annoyance, the console in Rattrap’s hideaway had been unable to verify the crew manifest of the ship that had so recently docked at Soundwave’s little commune to Prowl’s satisfaction, but it was a calculated risk Prowl was willing to take. 

To be fair, Prowl didn’t even know the suspect’s name. Besides the names stolen from his victims, there were just nicknames, designations piled on by mechaforensics and Enforcers alike. A hundred cases connected only with the slimmest evidence; an eyewitness report here, grainy security footage there. 

Prowl referred to him as Psuedo. Not the most creative name, but to give him a mystical, otherworldly name would imply powers he did not have. 

Prowl’s thoughts were interrupted by Cosmos coughing, static catching in his vocalizer. It was a habit many of them had picked up during their time on Earth—an unconscious habit of the humans, designed to draw attention to the speaker without actually  _ saying  _ anything. This was likely Cosmos’s way of restarting the conversation. 

Prowl checked his chrono as he waited. The requisite hours had passed while Prowl had been lost in thought, perusing the ancient files and wondering at Cosmos’s most recent infatuation. Likely Cosmos was about to tell him they had arrived. 

“Coming up on Sanctuary Station now,” Cosmos said, and Prowl didn’t fail to catch the hint of anticipation in the Autobot’s voice. Nor did he fail to notice Cosmos’s plating shift, field blatantly open and readable to any mech with half a processor. 

Prowl bit back a sharp retort, choosing instead to study the massive structure as it came into view. It was all sleek lines and fresh metal; no weaponry that Prowl could immediately discern, but he had no doubt it was there, hidden under the veneer of peace and neutrality. 

Cosmos tapped out another message. Prowl fought the urge to roll his remaining optic. 

Prowl took control of the nav and engaged the docking protocols. The ship groaned in response and for a nanosecond Prowl feared the thing might tear itself apart trying to land. Spaceworthy vessels were hard to come by these days, especially on Cybertron. Getting this one had required emptying what little shanix Prowl had on hand, plus a dozen favors from old contacts too afraid to tell him  _ no.  _ The ship didn’t even have a name _ ,  _ just an old numerical designation from its days ferrying cargo between Cybertron and Luna-2. 

“Vessel B63-A98 requesting permission to dock.”

The nav’s vidscreen flared to life. An unfamiliar Decepticon stared blankly at them, red optics failing to mask his apathy. 

“Airlock four. Leave your weapons on the ship.” 

“Like Pit I will,” Prowl muttered. Cosmos glanced at him but said nothing. Smart. 

The ship shuddered as its docking mechanisms adjusted to fit the station’s airlock specs. The airlocks were slightly smaller than normal, designed to accommodate personal craft and shuttles, but they were still too large for this ship. 

Prowl checked his weapons, more out of habit than anything else. Ideally, there would be no need for them, but Prowl had been alive long enough to know  _ ideally  _ was worth practically nothing. 

He didn’t fail to notice Cosmos making a show of leaving his rifle on the dash before heading to the airlock, which really only proved Prowl’s hypothesis. 

At least Soundwave had the decency to look unsurprised when Prowl emerged, blaster easily accessible in the holster at his hip. What Soundwave  _ didn’t  _ have the decency to do was contain his obvious excitement at seeing Cosmos. Obvious, meaning the slight relaxation of the shoulders, spinal struts bending half a degree. 

Mutual infatuation? 

Prowl hadn’t thought Cosmos was Soundwave’s  _ type.  _ In the nanoseconds that ticked by whenever Prowl felt the need to extrapolate the most efficient ways to kill the Decepticon High Command, he had always reasoned taking Soundwave out first would be the most logical. He  _ had  _ thought Megatron and Soundwave had something not purely professional going on since the first time their names crossed his desk, but it was clearly not the case. Or maybe it had been, and Cosmos was a...rebound? That was the term the humans used. If that was the case, Prowl felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the Autobot. He clearly had no idea he was being used. 

Soundwave tilted his head. Prowl met the mech’s flat stare with unwavering optics. 

“Cosmos tells me you have information on one of Sanctuary’s residents.” 

“Yes,” Prowl said, producing a datapad. It contained the sanitized paper trail from Prowl’s time in mechaforensics, his deductions and Psuedo’s provenance: a massive file of the mech’s time within both factions, ending with the manifest from the ship that had docked at the station. 

Soundwave scanned the datapad, too fast to have read it all. A direct hardline would be the most efficient way to instantly transfer the information, but Prowl had no desire to allow Soundwave access to his  _ anything.  _ Not again.The mech had spent enough time in Prowl’s head. Soundwave had probably heard  _ that,  _ but Prowl didn’t particularly care. 

Soundwave nodded. 

“Come.” 

Cosmos, the only mech out of the loop, was more twitchy than before, all ruffled plating and nervous glances at Prowl and Soundwave. Without a word, Soundwave handed the datapad to Cosmos, who accepted it eagerly. Prowl endeavored to ignore Cosmos muttering to himself as he read the ‘pad—the mech spent too much time alone, and his habit of talking to himself was carrying over into his off-duty behaviors. 

Did it need to be rectified? Probably. During the war, Prowl probably would have snapped at him, told him to knock it off, but they weren’t  _ technically  _ at war, and Prowl  _ technically  _ wasn’t Cosmos’s commanding officer. 

Soundwave led them to his office. His desk was stacked high with datapads, and an 

Prowl noted with some amusement that Soundwave was out of his depth. Anything he had learned about greeting mechs  _ without  _ clipped words or chilly silence, he had obviously gleaned from vids or his time as Ratbat’s servant. Prowl waited for Soundwave to sit. Cosmos looked up from the datapad and sat awkwardly, massive form slightly too large for his chair. 

Prowl sat. Both Soundwave and Cosmos were comfortably in his field of vision, trying hard not to stare at each other. Or at him. 

“I would like to interview your residents,” Prowl said, glossing over the fact that as a former Autobot slash war criminal, he had no right to interview anyone, much less the refugees in a semi-sovereign entity. 

“I will not subject anyone to an interrogation if they are unwilling,” Soundwave said. “You may speak to those who agree to it.” 

Prowl grit his teeth. The acquesiance was better than he had expected, but worse than he had hoped. 

“I’ll also need access to security footage,” Prowl said. “Maintenance logs.”

Prowl imagined that behind Soundwave’s visor, the Decepticon was frowning. 

“Cosmos?” 

“Yeah?” Cosmos looked up from studying the datapad. “Oh! Here.” 

Soundwave took the ‘pad and examined its contents again. Prowl waited, imagining the gears turning in Soundwave’s head as he reached the only sensible conclusion. 

“You believe your quarry is a shifter,” Soundwave said. 

“A shifter? Like the descendants of Amalgamous Prime?”

Prowl didn’t dignify that with a response. 

“I would like to speak with you first,” Prowl said. “If you’ll agree to it.” 

“Prowl--” 

Prowl shot Cosmos a glare, but Cosmos didn’t back down. 

“As you wish,” Soundwave said. “But I know the identity of your quarry.” 

“You  _ do?”  _

Prowl fought the urge to sigh. Cosmos was many things, but he was certainly not an investigator. Granted, Prowl  _ was  _ surprised, but not surprised enough to go blurting it out. 

“Yes,” Soundwave said. “Makeshift arrived two weeks ago with a group of refugees.” 

“And you  _ let him on your station?”  _

“You are seeking a shifter,” Soundwave said. “I am referring you to the only one on the station.” 

Prowl narrowed his optic. He wasn’t sure if Soundwave was just  _ that bad  _ at fielding non-wartime administrative duties, or if the Decepticon was leading him on. Surely Soundwave wasn’t foolish enough to willingly reveal the identities of potential murder suspects. Unless he was making a show of cooperation, either for Cosmos’s benefit or because he foolishly believed Prowl still held some sway over the Prime. 

“Fine,” Prowl said. “Bring him in.” 

“I will  _ ask  _ Makeshift if he is willing to submit to an interview,” Soundwave retorted. “And I will remain with him.” 

“Fine,” Prowl repeated. “I’ll wait.” 

Soundwave nodded, turning to the data terminal resting on his desk. 

On his right, Cosmos shifted uncomfortably, apparently torn between gazing longingly at Soundwave and trying to interrogate Prowl.

“You really think it’s him?” 

“I will when I talk to him,” Prowl said. “You can go, Cosmos. Run back to Optimus.” 

“No way,” Cosmos said, field flaring with uncharacteristic determination. It prickled against Prowl’s armor in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “You dragged me into this. I’m staying.” 

“Suit yourself,” Prowl said, and settled back into his seat. 

It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place in an unspecified time post-exrid #55; Cosmos is mostly recovered from the fight with Galvatron, Optimus and Soundwave are sort of working together, Sins of the Wreckers has already happened.

Soundwave input Makeshift’s public comlink code without looking at the keypad. 

The majority of his attention was diverted to the two Autobots in his office: one he had hoped to see, and one anticipated guest. 

Cosmos was a pleasant beacon of warmth. Honesty. Not for the first time, Soundwave was glad Cosmos had agreed to stop fighting and maintain an open line of communication. Not entirely for the good of Autobot-Decepticon relations in the Sol system, Soundwave knew, although he wasn’t sure if Cosmos did. It was personal. Cosmos wanted to feel valued. Heard. It was something Soundwave was eager to indulge; it was rare a mech—Autobot or otherwise—was willing to stand up to him, to question his decisions, to treat him like an equal, not someone to be feared. 

Soundwave appreciated it. 

And then there was Prowl. Soundwave had not been sure what to make of Cosmos’s original message, requesting permission on behalf of Prowl to board Sanctuary Station. 

If Cosmos was warmth, Prowl was fire _ ,  _ though Soundwave was certain that to everyone else, Prowl felt like ice. But Prowl  _ was  _ fire; barely concealed rage and frustration looking desperately for an outlet. 

Prowl’s thoughts were barbed things, sharpened to a point and digging into Soundwave’s brainpan. Soundwave was reasonably certain he wasn’t doing it intentionally, but he could only imagine how Prowl felt, being the constant source—and target—of such constant, self-directed vitriol.

“Makeshift,” Soundwave said. “You are acquainted with the former Autobot Prowl?” 

The voice on the other end of the line was tinny and soft—if his duty roster was to be believed, Makeshift was on the other side of the commune, drilling magna-clamps onto the station’s exterior. 

_ “Heard of him.”  _

There was a soft hiss of the airlock opening—Makeshift had re-entered the station itself, because his next words were clear. 

_ “He wants to talk to me?”  _

“Yes,”

_ “Why? Who’d I kill?”  _

Makeshift laughed at his own joke, and Soundwave noted with some amusement that Prowl stiffened in his seat, a barely-contained snarl forming at the edge of his lips. 

Soundwave did not respond.

Makeshift sighed. Despite the distance between them, Soundwave could feel the other Decepticon easily; all prickly worry and simmering righteous indignation, memories of wary glances and form discrimination. Prowl was here because if there was a shifter, there must be a crime. Things hadn’t changed at all, Makeshift feared. They were the same, and they would always be the same. 

By now, Soundwave was sure Makeshift was not the killer, but perhaps he would able to provide insight into Prowl’s quarry. 

_ “He got any right to take me out?”  _

“No,” Soundwave said, shooting a pointed glance at Prowl. “I will remain with you, if you wish.” 

_ “I do wish, _ ” Makeshift said.  _ “Your office?”  _

Soundwave indicated the affirmative. 

_ “Be there in five.”  _

Soundwave ended the call. 

Prowl was still agitated, thoroughly annoyed at the perception his investigation was being treated so carelessly. Soundwave leaned back in his seat and considered the Autobots once again. 

Earlier, he had not been imagining the sharp, sour emotion Prowl felt when the former Autobot deduced the nature of Soundwave’s attitude towards Cosmos. It was patently obvious now—Prowl had tried to get Cosmos to leave once already. Because of the  potential danger? Or did Prowl not want Cosmos to see the side of him Cybertron had so recently been exposed to? 

Perhaps...perhaps Prowl was not as closed off as Soundwave initially thought. 

Cosmos had told him Prowl had been the one who recruited him for the mission to Earth. Prowl obviously trusted Cosmos enough to bring him along for this particular mission. As it stood, Cosmos was oblivious to Prowl’s apparent attentions. 

Which was...troubling _.  _

Soundwave was not stupid. Cosmos was fond of him, of course. 

And Soundwave was fond of him; fond enough that he had to quash the reflexive spark of jealousy in his chest.

Soundwave could not—would not interfere, he would not attempt to sway Cosmos to his side. He would not push Cosmos away, but neither could he encourage him. It was not...not proper. Though disillusioned, Cosmos was an Autobot, and already had a potential suitor. Prowl was everything Soundwave might have been, if Soundwave were not a Decepticon, not someone who could pick the darkest secrets out of your head with only a glance. It hurt, certainly, but there was so little time for introspection and regret. The choice was clear. Soundwave wanted Cosmos. Soundwave didn’t deserve Cosmos. 

“Prowl,” Cosmos was saying, “You can’t just kill him.” 

“Indeed,” Soundwave said.   _ “If  _ Makeshift is at fault, we will present your evidence to a panel of his peers—failing that, I will arrange extradition to Cybertron. They will decide his fate.” 

“Because the last time Cybertronians had a trial, it went  _ so well,”  _ Prowl muttered, and a flash of pain, of  _ hurt  _ shot through Prowl’s mind, so strong it sent Soundwave reeling, wishing he could somehow push the stress out of Prowl’s brainpan. 

Cosmos offered Prowl a concerned glance, then looked over at Soundwave. Soundwave inclined his head, wishing he could better shield his mind from Prow’s barbed thoughts.

* * *

Cosmos tried not to listen in as Soundwave talked to Makeshift. 

Prowl was obviously annoyed at the Decepticon’s flippant attitude and bad jokes, plating clamped against his protoform and optic narrowed to a thin line. 

Soundwave ended the call and leaned back in his chair, visor trained on his guests. Cosmos shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the stare, no matter how neutral and not-unkind it was, and glanced around, taking in the office. He had not seen this section of the station either during his recovery or his brief mission to spy; it was clearly new, judging from the lack of scuff marks on the floor and the remnants of human packing tape on the walls. 

Not for the first time, Cosmos wondered how Soundwave had convinced the humans to contribute so readily to his cause—they didn’t believe Soundwave  _ or  _ the Decepticons intended peace.  Cosmos still wasn’t sure he believed it, though he had never seen any evidence to the contrary. 

Prowl’s fingers were twitching now, edging towards his weapon. Cosmos pitied Makeshift. Innocent or not, the Decepticon was about to be subjected to an interrogation that Prowl had been imagining for millions of years. 

“Prowl,” Cosmos said, trying to keep his voice quiet, “You can’t just kill him.” 

“Indeed,” Soundwave said, because of course he had heard.  _ “If  _ Makeshift is at fault, we will present your evidence to a panel of his peers—failing that, I will arrange extradition to Cybertron. They will decide his fate.” 

Prowl snorted. 

“Because the last time Cybertronians had a trial, it went  _ so well,”  _ he said. And...Prowl did have a point.

Soundwave seemed to understand, inclining his head as Prowl spoke. A nod Cosmos only saw because he was practically gawking at Soundwave now, wishing they had reunited under better circumstances. That it wasn’t so  _ awkward  _ right now. 

Prowl was probably the one making it awkward, Cosmos thought. He  _ should  _ feel right at home, Cosmos reasoned, because despite this being a Decepticon-oriented refuge, Prowl’s hatred of Optimus was equally matched by Soundwave’s. Even if Soundwave was  _ technically  _ working with Optimus now.

Oh _.  _

_ Oh no.  _

Maybe that was why they were here. Maybe Prowl had finally realized he could not make it on Cybertron alone and had jumped at the chance to head to the one place in the galaxy where he  _ wouldn’t  _ immediately be arrested or executed. Maybe this whole investigation into an ancient case was just an excuse to scope out Sanctuary Station with the intention of setting up shop. 

With the one mech who hated Optimus Prime as much as he did.  

The realization sent Cosmos tumbling into a metaphorical pit of despair. Soundwave glanced at Cosmos, an unasked question present in the tilt of his head. 

Primus, Cosmos had been so  _ stupid  _ to think that he had a chance with Soundwave. Not compared to Prowl—if that was what Prowl was here for, which made more and more sense the longer Cosmos thought about it. Prowl had denounced Optimus Prime in front of the entire Cybertronian population—and its colony too. 

He would be welcomed here with open arms. Meanwhile, Cosmos was still a fully-fledged Autobot, still loyal to Optimus. Optimus, the mech who held a metaphorical gun to Soundwave’s head. 

“Sorry,” Cosmos said. At once, the room felt stuffy, too full of unasked questions and tension. “I’ll be waiting at the ship, Prowl.” 

Prowl nodded. 

Cosmos stumbled out of the chair, trying vainly to ignore Soundwave’s questioning look directed at his back. 

The hallway was blessedly empty. Cosmos forced out an exvent as he leaned against the wall. 

His comlink chimed. Cosmos glanced at his wrist.

Soundwave.

Cosmos typed out a quick reply and closed the text client with slightly more force than necessary. He really didn’t need Soundwave’s pity, or to be let down gently with explanations and apologies. 

Cosmos just wanted to be left alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my weird rarepair romcom-turning-horror fic! Feedback only helps me get better <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got most of the next chapter written, but I'm putting this one out a bit early in anticipation of me taking a break from updating my current stuff to either a) scream about the bumblebee movie incoherently or b) write bumblebee movie fic.

Prowl watched Cosmos leave. 

He wasn’t sure what prompted the abrupt exit. He had assumed Cosmos would insist on staying throughout the entirety of the investigation, if only to have an opportunity to be close to Soundwave. 

Did Cosmos think Prowl intended to court Soundwave? Was  _ that  _ why he was upset? 

The notion was so ludicrous Prowl had to stifle an unbecoming bark of laughter. Thankfully, the noise was obscured by a knock on the door. 

Makeshift, most likely. Soundwave seemed to concur, because the door slid open and Makeshift walked in. 

Makeshift was all blacks and dark grays that rippled under Prowl’s gaze, as though he was a shadow destined to vanish at the first sign of light. Kibble that might have been wings stuck out at awkward angles on the mech’s shoulders, but as Prowl watched, Makeshift’s plating moved almost organically, sliding neatly into his back as he took a seat. Bright white optics surveyed Prowl with equal parts distrust and anxiety, quelled only by Soundwave’s presence.

The mech trusted Soundwave. Makeshift would not have come here if he did not. Interesting, though it was unknown whether that fact strengthened or weakened Makeshift’s case.

“Makeshift,” Prowl said, then stopped. While Cosmos’s field was flat and Soundwave’s was tightly wound, Makeshift seemed to have no field at all, no indication that he was truly there and not an illusion. 

“Prowl.” Makeshift’s voice was low and gravelly, though Prowl knew that could change in a microsecond. Prowl’s plating clamped even tighter against his protoform as proximity sensors pinged false alerts at Makeshift’s undefinable presence. Unconsciously, his optic moved to the left, just enough that Makeshift was out of focus. 

As Prowl stared at the unmoving stack of datapads, Makeshift seemed to fade into the background, a shadow superimposed on the chair. 

It was a relief when Soundwave spoke, though Prowl noticed Soundwave wasn’t even attempting to look at the other Decepticon directly, staring instead at a fixed point behind Makeshift’s shoulder. 

“Prowl is concluding an investigation from his time in law enforcement,” Soundwave said. “He is searching for a mech suspected in several killings.” 

Makeshift muttered something about form discrimination under his breath, then straightened and turned to stare at Soundwave. 

“And I’m the prime suspect.” 

“I do not believe you are,” Soundwave said. “And once Prowl speaks to you, he will concur.” 

Prowl forced himself to look directly at Makeshift, once again disregarding the frantic alerts on his HUD. 

“Highrise,” Prowl said. The names of Psuedo’s victims were practically engraved in his brainpan. “Blasto. Wheeler. Slipjet. Do those names hold any meaning to you?” 

There were more—dozens more, but those four were the most well-known, having been lucky enough to be sparked for the purpose of a valued function. Prowl didn’t bother to mention Metalhead. 

“Served with a Slipwing once,” Makeshift said. “Got killed before we left Cybertron.”

“Slip _ jet _ of Helex was killed six million years ago,” Prowl said. “Triple tap. The killer consumed his brain module shortly after death.”

As far as Prowl could tell, Makeshift was unfazed. But four million years of unrelenting war did that to a mech. 

“Myself, I think I would’ve gone for the t-cog,” Makeshift said, patting himself on the side. “Go through a lot of them.” 

“Makeshift,” Soundwave said. “This is serious.” 

“I am being serious!” Metal warped and bent under Makeshift’s clawed hands. “I don’t know these guys. Primus, I wasn’t even  _ alive  _ when Slip-whatever got killed.” 

“When were you sparked?” Prowl asked. “Where?” 

“Why does it matter?” Makeshift was truly agitated now, plating moving too fluidly to be wholly mechanical. Prowl wanted to look away, to look  _ anywhere  _ else, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. “ I  _ do  _ know I never killed anyone before the war. Or after, for that matter.”

“Are you aware of any other shifters?” Soundwave asked. 

_ “No,” _ Makeshift snapped. “Heard the Autobots had one on their side before they got to Earth. That’s it.” 

Prowl hadn’t heard about that. It was likely bad information, the Decepticon rumor mill working overtime to amuse its faction. 

“How would you detect one?” Prowl asked, instead. 

“How would I know?” 

“You’re a shifter,” Prowl said. 

“And you’re an Autobot,” Makeshift snapped. “Tell me, how do you get your head out of your—”

_ “Makeshift.”  _

Makeshift rolled his optics— _ probably  _ rolled his optics, because Prowl’s focus was slipping. He was turning into a blur, flipping in and out of sight as Prowl’s brain module tried to make sense of the mech’s existence. 

It was giving him a headache. 

“I don’t know,” Makeshift said. “I don’t know you  _ could.  _ I heard some neutral scientist was close to a breakthrough. Meso...Meso-something?” 

“Mesothulas.” 

Prowl felt Soundwave’s gaze direct itself to Prowl. Surely his voice wasn’t as strained as it sounded in his head. He shifted in his seat—Rattrap’s repairs to his frame had been substandard at best. One particularly sloppy weld just below his left shoulder ached with surprising fierceness.  

“Yeah. Sure.” Makeshift crossed his arms. Prowl gave in and looked away. In front of him, Soundwave was a solid, unmistakable presence, watching Makeshift and Prowl with equal interest.  “Whatever. Find him and you’ve got your super-ethical shifter detector.” 

“Mesothulas is dead,” Prowl snapped. 

“How would I know that?” All but invisible now that Prowl wasn’t looking at him, Makeshift was no more than a low voice and a flurry of alerts on Prowl’s HUD. “Never met the guy.” 

“Thank you, Makeshift,” Soundwave said. 

“Soundwave—” 

“You may go.” 

_ “Soundwave.”  _

Makeshift spared Prowl another glare and stood. Though it wasn’t possible to slam the automated door, Prowl knew Makeshift wished he could. He didn’t wait for the door to close before jumping to his feet. 

“What was  _ that  _ supposed to be?” 

“Makeshift is innocent of the crime you are investigating,” Soundwave said. As if it could ever be that simple. 

“How would you even  _ know that?”  _

Soundwave didn’t get up. 

“I have exceptional hearing,” Soundwave said, like that explained anything. “Makeshift provided you with a lead. Assuming you believe a shifter is still guilty of the crime you are investigating. Do you?” 

“Yes!” Prowl whipped around to look Soundwave in the optics. The weld in his back abruptly realigned and stabilized, flooding his system with immediate relief. Prowl bit back a relieved sigh. 

“The chance of someone managing to commit these crimes  _ without  _ being a shifter is so improbable it’s been discarded altogether.” 

“And you are certain these crimes have been committed by the same person?” 

“If I weren’t,” Prowl snapped, “I would be looking for multiple mechs,  _ not just one!”  _

Soundwave leaned back in his seat, expression neutral.  

“Makeshift provided you with a lead,” Soundwave said. “And as I said, you are free to interview anyone on this station who agrees to it.” 

Prowl started pacing. His back was aching now, but it was a tolerable ache. So much better than the pain of the noisemaze, or even the pain in his shoulder. 

“Fine. Let’s say you’re right. Then there  _ is  _ another shifter on this station, and you couldn’t sniff them out,” Prowl said. “What good are you, then?” 

“My abilities have limits,” Soundwave said. “I am  _ not  _ willing to invade the minds of those who come here seeking refuge, but as I told you before, I am willing to lend my assistance.” 

And  _ that  _ was another question, one Prowl was asking before his processor caught up with his mouth. 

_ “Why.”  _

Soundwave seemed to take it in stride. Perhaps he had anticipated this question and prepared a response. He was going to humor Prowl, to offer a glib reply that didn’t actually answer the question. 

“I will protect this station with my life,” Soundwave said. “At the moment, protecting this station includes allowing you to conduct your search.” 

“You could do it yourself,” Prowl snapped. “Take the information and find him yourself.” 

“I could,” Soundwave said. “But you are the best.” 

Soundwave watched impassively as Prowl felt his brain module fizzle and reset. 

“I’m. The. Best.” 

“Yes,” Soundwave said. “Is that fact in error?”

“No,” Prowl said. He was going to have to store that bit of conversation for later examination. Now was not the time to remember the last time someone had complimented him. It was flattering, certainly, especially coming from a mech as skilled as Soundwave. Unless Soundwave was saying it to flatter Prowl, to get him to lower his guard. In which case, Prowl clamped down on the instinctive spark of bitterness in his chest. He was not about to be fooled. “Pull up your station’s security footage.” 

“As you wish.” Soundwave activated the data terminal. “Come.” 

Prowl grit his dentae and stepped forward until he stood beside Soundwave. These days, Autobots tended to move  _ away  _ when Prowl got near, but Soundwave was no Autobot. He remained where he sat, focused only on the security feeds. 

“What are we looking for?” 

Prowl hadn’t missed the  _ we  _ glyph attached to Soundwave’s reply _.  _ He endeavored to ignore it. 

A single keystroke had several dozen cameras crammed onto the vidscreen. Prowl squinted, trying to get a sense of the station’s layout. The airlock he and Cosmos had exited was the only frame of reference he had. He could see the faint outline of Cosmos’s frame through the ship’s viewpane. The sheer number of cameras Soundwave had managed to install was impressive, Prowl had to admit. Not what he would have expected from a peaceful commune, but it  _ was  _ what he expected from Soundwave. 

“I see you haven’t wholly given up your role as a spy.” 

Soundwave gave Prowl a flat stare. 

“And you are still an investigator.” 

Prowl fought back the urge to grin. It was wholly inappropriate, given the circumstanes. And the fact that Soundwave was a Decepticon. 

“Never said I wasn’t.” 

“This would be faster if you ran frame recognition software,” Prowl muttered. “How many are onboard?” 

“Thirty-two, including Cosmos and yourself,” Soundwave said. “As for Cosmos…” 

Prowl bit back a jab about lovestruck mechs. This was  _ not  _ the time or place to be pining after Cosmos. 

“What about him?” 

Prowl fought the urge to squirm. Standing this close to Soundwave was making his plating itch. 

Soundwave flinched once, then fell silent. His hands, previously on the terminal’s keyboard, fell to his side. 

“Soundwave?” 

Soundwave let out a long, shuddering breath.

“It is likely your quarry knows you are here,” Soundwave said. “I...I feel him.” 

That Soundwave could suddenly sense Pseudo was a matter for a different time. 

“Where?”

“There.” Soundwave gestured to the screen. 

Prowl checked his weapon. Pseudo was cunning.  _ Brilliant. _ But now he had nowhere to run, and that just made him more dangerous. 

“Where is this?” 

“Two corridors down. Take a left. Prowl, w—” 

Prowl ran. 

The nerve circuits in his back screamed in protest as Prowl made a hard left and skidded on spilled Energon. A microsecond calculation and an equally fast weight redistribution were all that stopped him from falling flat on his face. Instead, Prowl’s uninjured shoulder slammed into the wall as his fans went into overdrive, processors working overtime to absorb the scene. 

_ “Scrap.”  _

Pseudo was gone. He hadn’t even bothered to take a trophy, to leave a taunt scrawled out in the victim’s Energon. Yes, he had been in a hurry, but Pseudo always,  _ always  _ left a calling card. 

The body was enough of a message, Prowl realized.  _ You are here and I know it.  _

It was then that Prowl realized he had miscalculated. Yes, Pseudo was trapped on the station, but he was not as cornered as Prowl initially thought.

A dead Decepticon on a station full of Decepticons, and the killer had struck less than an hour after Prowl arrived. Belatedly, Prowl remembered the apathetic Decepticon that had transmitted the docking coordinates. He and Cosmos should have taken more precautions. They should have dealt with Soundwave directly, kept their arrival a secret.

It was strategically brilliant, designed to jeopardize the investigation before it could be begun in earnest. 

It was what Prowl would have done. The thought hurt a little more than it should have. 

Soft footfalls behind him had Prowl whipping around, weapon out of its holster before he realized it was Cosmos. And Soundwave. 

_ Maybe.  _ Or maybe it was Pseudo, dragging along one half of Sanctuary Station’s Lovesick Duo. Prowl put the chances of that at only 14.9%, but right now, Prowl was not willing to risk it. He kept his weapon raised, alternating between pointing it at Soundwave and Cosmos. 

“How do I know you’re you?” 

Cosmos shrugged. 

Prowl leveled his gun at Soundwave, ignoring Cosmos’s half-heard protest. 

“Prowl,” Cosmos said. “You need to trust us.” 

This time, there was no conveniently-timed noise to mask Prowl’s laugh. 

_ “ _ If one of us is  _ your  _ target,” Soundwave said. “He will be unable to evade detection for long.” 

The glyphs attached to the initial phrase were telling— _ Soundwave  _ wasn’t sure Prowl was Prowl. And based on his body language, Soundwave was trying to appear as non threatening as possible.

At least pacifism hadn’t eased Soundwave’s paranoia. And if Soundwave was willing to trust Cosmos, that meant Cosmos was Cosmos. Which meant that for the moment, everyone was who they claimed to be. 

Prowl lowered the gun, but did not holster it. Cosmos visibly relaxed, staggering back and leaning against the wall. Prowl almost pitied him. He hadn’t come here to be held at gunpoint by an ally. 

_ Former ally.  _

A moment passed in silence. Prowl took the time to consider the chances of Soundwave agreeing to what Prowl was going to say next.

Finally, Cosmos spoke. 

“So. What do we do now?” 

Despite the situation, Prowl had to hold back a smile.  _ That,  _ at least, he had an answer for. 

“We’re going to need a full autopsy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read 4,000 words? Get hug!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for Cybertronian autopsies in the first half, medical procedures of questionable accuracy in the second half (the only reference I used for said procedures is the time I ended up in urgent care because I accidentally cut my finger open while cutting bread).

er 4

“A full what now?” 

“Autopsy.”

Cosmos looked at Soundwave.

Soundwave was staring at Prowl. 

“I need a room, Cosmos,” Prowl said, in that particular tone of voice that set Cosmos’s teeth on edge. “Somewhere private.” 

Soundwave had likely heard his expletive-laden reply before Cosmos articulated it, because he stepped forward, one hand coming to rest on Cosmos’s forearm. 

Cosmos appreciated the gesture far more than he probably should. 

“You are free to use my office,” Soundwave said. 

“Fine.” Prowl holstered his gun and angled his body sideways, keeping his optic trained on them. “We need to move the body.” 

Cosmos eyed the corpse. 

The Decepticon was unfamiliar, but that was nothing new. Despite Soundwave’s promise, despite his abilities, Soundwave couldn’t be everywhere at once. Cosmos had kept to his habsuite while he recovered, unwilling to risk being cornered in an unused hallway. It actually would have been worse if Cosmos  _ knew  _ who this was. He couldn’t imagine standing over the body of any of his fellow Autobots, preparing to haul their corpse around the  _ Ark _ . 

He  _ could  _ imagine standing over Prowl or Soundwave though, and that thought was enough to prompt an unintentional step back, close enough to Soundwave that he brushed against the Decepticon’s armor.

Soundwave’s grip on his forearm tightened briefly, and Cosmos realized he had been thinking too loud. 

“I’m okay,” Cosmos said, not entirely sure if he believed himself. “I’m okay.” 

Prowl hadn’t moved. Cosmos wasn’t sure if he was waiting for Soundwave to move first, or if he was still searching for unknowable clues hidden in the splatters of Energon and coolant. 

If Cosmos didn’t know better, he would have guessed Prowl was paralyzed by indecision, caught between turning to move the body and keeping Soundwave and Cosmos in his field of vision. 

Soundwave took the initiative, stepping directly into Prowl’s purview. Cosmos followed suit, hesitating only when Soundwave hauled the dead mech up by the shoulders. 

“Gross,” Cosmos said, but moved to grab the legs. 

The body was still warm. Cosmos shuddered as Energon trickled out of ruined plating to splash onto his hands. 

Together, they hauled the mech up. He was lighter than Cosmos expected. Probably a MTO. More Energon dripped as Cosmos walked backwards, allowing Soundwave to direct him down the hallway. 

Save for the quiet  _ splat  _ of Energon hitting the floor, it was silent. Cosmos found his optics wandering to the dead Decepticon and immediately regretted it. 

A blade had sliced a clean line through the MTO’s thin armor and minimal protoform. From this angle, Cosmos could see the cracked casing where his spark had once rested. A fast death, but Cosmos suspected it had not been a painless one.

This mech had come here expecting safety—sanctuary _.  _ He had survived a  _ war,  _ only to be cut down because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The sheer injustice of it had his tanks churning. Cosmos tightened his grip. The thin plating bent and warped under his fingers. 

He looked up. 

Soundwave was watching him, an unreadable expression on the mech’s face. What did  _ he  _ think about this mess? Had he seen enough death that one more was of little consequence? Or was he just as angry as Cosmos?

And then there was Prowl. 

He was following them closely, hand resting on the gun’s holster. His optic was fixed on the body, and from this distance Cosmos could  _ hear  _ the mech’s internal cooling system working overtime. He was also walking with a slight hitch, as though trying to step over an imaginary obstacle. 

Or maybe his back just hurt. Cosmos wasn’t blind—he had seen the haphazard welds and warped plating that marked Prowl’s body. He was probably in a  _ lot  _ of pain, Cosmos realized, and he hadn’t done anything to  _ help.  _

They set the body down in Soundwave’s office. Soundwave stepped back immediately, but Cosmos moved forward. 

“Prowl?”

“Mm.” Prowl’s optic was bright. He looked focused. Alert, as though he had woken from a nightmare. 

“Your back.” Cosmos gestured to the welds. “I’m—do you need anything?” 

“No,” Prowl snapped, then stopped and met Cosmos’s optics. “I’m fine. It can wait.” 

“Okay.” Cosmos followed Soundwave’s example and stepped aside. Prowl gave him a short nod and moved to begin.

Whatever  _ autopsy  _ meant to humans, Cybertronian autopsy was vastly different. Cosmos’s only frame of reference for the term came from the human media accidentally transmitted to his reconnaissance software. 

Admittedly, he had been expecting Prowl to dig around in the dead mech’s internals, like all the medical professionals on the human television did. He hadn’t been expecting Prowl to begin  _ disassembling  _ the mech from the helm down, placing each component on the once-pristine floor with equal care. 

Cosmos flinched as an Energon-stained hand touched his shoulder. 

“Sit,” Soundwave said, gesturing to his chair. 

Cosmos didn’t take his optics off Prowl, but he sat, feeling a slight ache in his sides as his autorepair kicked in. 

The recovery was still ongoing. Though the injuries had healed weeks ago, Cosmos could feel the weld lines zigzagging his body whenever the station’s heating malfunctioned. He was feeling them now, all jagged edges burning under his armor as nanites looked for something to fix. There was nothing  _ to  _ repair, an alert on Cosmos’s HUD informed him. Just underworked joints getting back into the swing of things. 

“I can turn the heating up if you wish.” 

Cosmos shook his head. 

“I’m fine.” 

Soundwave leaned against the desk. He was watching Prowl as well, Cosmos noted with some despair. If Prowl found the killer—and Prowl  _ would,  _ Cosmos was certain—his application to join the station would not go unchallenged. Cosmos wanted to ask if Prowl had brought it up yet. He probably should soon, otherwise the investigation might be construed as bribery. Would Soundwave think so? Cosmos doubted it, but surely Prowl had thought of that already.

“How are you?” Cosmos asked, instead.  

“Functional,” Soundwave replied, which was Soundwave-speak for  _ exhausted.  _ “Negotiations with Earth leadership are ongoing.” 

Cosmos looked at Soundwave. It was rare Soundwave brought up Earth, because talking about Earth inevitably led to talking about  _ Optimus,  _ which was a sore subject between them. 

“Good ongoing? Or bad?” 

“Undetermined.” Soundwave hesitated, then continued. “Stalled. Your Prime demands greater involvement.” 

_ “ _ As if annexing Earth wasn’t enough?” 

Cosmos glanced over at Prowl. The mech’s arms were coated in coolant and Energon. Some kind of pump was in one hand, wiped clean with a filthy rag. 

“You two were having a moment,” Prowl said. “Go on.” 

Cosmos rolled his optics. 

Prowl went back to his autopsy. 

“You don’t need him, you know,” Cosmos said. “Optimus. Or Galvatron. Mostly Galvatron.” 

“You are encouraging me to break ties with your Prime?” Soundwave sounded more surprised than amused.

“He’s not ‘my’ Prime,” Cosmos said. “And, yeah. You’ve worked under mechs your whole life, Soundwave. I think it’s time you worked for yourself.” 

Soundwave was quiet, long enough for Cosmos to start worrying he had said something wrong. Then: 

“I have never done that before.” 

“High time you tried,” Cosmos said. “You can’t say that Optimus’d be okay with—” 

Cosmos gestured vaguely to the gore-splattered room. To Prowl. 

The mech in question whipped around at the mention of Optimus’s name. Cosmos tried to ignore him.

“This.  _ You  _ are, which is fine _.  _ But if he found out…” 

Soundwave nodded. 

“I will not allow either of you to suffer the consequences of my decision to admit you,” Soundwave said. “You both are welcome to remain here as long as you wish.” 

The  _ both— _ the  _ not just Prowl— _ had Cosmos’s spark doing cartwheels in his chest. 

Prowl was making a strangled noise—possibly because what Soundwave just said was probably the nicest thing anyone had said to Prowl in months. But it was more likely Prowl had found something. 

“He was short on time,” Prowl said in response to the unasked question. “He’s exhibited proficiency with close-range weapons in past murders.”

Prowl turned to disassemble the mech’s knee joint. Soundwave’s once-flawless office now looked like something out of a human horror movie, with Prowl starring as the main character. 

“You’re sure it’s him?” Cosmos asked. 

“That was never in doubt,” Prowl said. “But yes. I am sure.”

Soundwave straightened. He hadn’t been slouching to begin with, but now he was at full attention, optics fixed on something neither Cosmos nor Prowl could see. 

“Prowl.” 

“What.” Prowl had turned back to the corpse, coating his hands with fresh Energon in the process. 

“Optimus Prime is here.” 

Fear—no,  _ terror— _ shot through Cosmos’s spark, and he wasn’t sure why. Optimus was no Megatron, Optimus would never hurt him. Surely if he just explained the situation to Optimus, this whole situation could be explained to everyone’s satisfaction. 

Prowl had no such qualms.  __

“Slag, Soundwave,  _ did you call him!”  _

“Prowl!” The word was out of his mouth before Cosmos could think—Prowl’s gun was already raised, he  _ really  _ shouldn’t be yelling at Prowl, who was paranoid and violent on a good day. 

Today was not a good day. 

“I did not,” Soundwave said. “I give you my word. Prowl—”

_ “What.”  _

“I would recommend you visit Scalpel in the medical bay,” Soundwave said. “I doubt Optimus Prime will be willing to make concessions for your injuries.” 

“You think this is going to end in a fight?” Cosmos hoped his voice wasn’t as weak as it sounded. If Prowl was as injured as it seemed, Soundwave stood absolutely no chance in a fight against Optimus, and Cosmos wouldn’t be much help— _ if _ he was going to turn traitor and help the two most paranoid mechs in the galaxy, instead of doing the  _ right  _ thing and help Optimus bring Prowl in. 

Was that the right thing? The awful, traitorous part of his processor reminded Cosmos that _Prowl_ was the reason he hadn’t joined up with the _Lost Light_ again after the Necrotitan debacle. 

And in the same token, if Prowl hadn’t recruited him, Cosmos never would have met Soundwave.

So really, this was Prowl’s fault. All of it. 

Cosmos really wished he regretted following Prowl just a little more. 

“No,” Soundwave said, at the same time Prowl said: “Yes.” 

“It will be significantly more difficult to extract Prowl if Scalpel is performing a medical procedure,” Soundwave said. “Cosmos?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Go with Prowl to the medbay.” 

“No,” Cosmos said, then winced at his tone. “I’m going with you.” 

Soundwave didn’t put up much of a fight. He merely inclined his head, repeated his recommendation for Prowl to get to the medbay, and gestured for Cosmos to follow. 

* * *

“Do you think it’s going to end in a fight?” Cosmos asked again, once they were headed to the airlock.

“No,” Soundwave said. “But he is...angry. Frustrated.” 

Soundwave glanced at Cosmos. 

“Not at you.” Currently, Optimus was unaware Cosmos was on the station. Soundwave had rather hoped to keep it that way.  _ If  _ Optimus managed to extradite Prowl, Soundwave would encounter resistance if he moved to take over the investigation, but Cosmos...Soundwave knew enough of their shared history to be relatively certain Prowl would trust Cosmos to carry on. A task that would be monumentally more difficult if Cosmos was also going to leave. “He is frustrated at the situation itself.” 

“Do you think he’s really going to try and take Prowl?” 

“I am unsure,” Soundwave admitted. “His thoughts are unclear.” 

“That’s...comforting, I guess,” Cosmos said. “You think Prowl’s going to go?” 

“He is already speaking with Scalpel.” And Scalpel was already annoyed, so Soundwave reasoned Prowl was a moment away from being put into a CR chamber. 

It was rare Soundwave came into direct contact with a mech he directly manipulated. Rarer so did that mech survive said manipulation. Prowl was an uncomfortable reminder of what Cosmos had been arguing just minutes before—Soundwave, being willing to go to the ends of the universe for the ones who held his loyalty, but being unwilling to do the same for himself. 

Even across the station, Soundwave could taste Prowl’s fear. It was masked with hatred and stoic concentration, but it was there. Prowl was afraid of him, afraid of what Soundwave could do to his mind. There was also fear of the situation, of Optimus and Cybertron and combiners too, but Prowl’s fear of Soundwave remained at the forefront of the mech’s mind.

He was not wrong to be afraid. Though Soundwave had helped Bombshell under orders from another mech, Soundwave had still  _ done it.  _

“Cosmos?” 

“Yeah?” 

“The words you spoke earlier.” By now, they were closer to Optimus than they were to Prowl, and from this distance, the Prime’s thoughts were practically tangible, simmering just below the surface. “I will take them to heart.” 

Perhaps it was time to truly take accountability into his hands. 

“Soundwave.” Optimus’s optics widened marginally as Cosmos appeared, looking anywhere but the Autobot leader. “Cosmos.” 

“Prime, sir, I—” 

“Prowl and Cosmos are welcome here,” Soundwave said. “I have been informed one of this station’s residents is wanted for crimes committed in the past.” 

Optimus sighed, and for a second, Soundwave saw the Prime as his followers did—tired, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but determined to do the best for his people. To be the best.

It was a pity Soundwave would never be one of his people. 

“Be that as it may,” Optimus glanced back at the airlock. Soundwave could feel the reinforcements just on the other side of the door, tired and anxious, just wanting to  _ go home _ . “It is my duty to bring Prowl back to Cybertron to answer for the destruction caused by Devastator.” 

Beside him, Cosmos shifted uncomfortably. 

“Were you acting as Cybertron’s representative, my answer would be the same,” Soundwave said. The Prime’s optics narrowed, and Soundwave felt his thoughts abruptly change direction. Soundwave had just crossed a line. Which line, and whether he would be able to come back from it, was up for debate. 

“Sanctuary for all was not an exaggeration,” Soundwave said, as an explanation. “Should Starscream or Windblade wish to begin an extradition process—” 

“Soundwave,” Optimus said. “You remember our agreement.” 

And there it was. Cosmos’s head snapped up, and he looked at Soundwave, a question in the tilt of his head.

While unaware of the details, Cosmos knew the basics: Soundwave had done something on Cybertron, something awful enough that he was willing to ally with a Prime to avoid it getting out. Soundwave had rather hoped Cosmos would never need to know more than that.

“Soundwave,” Blue optics softened, and Soundwave saw a flicker of the world-weary leader, struggling to the surface. And then it was gone. “You—”

“I will no longer refuse accountability for my decisions,” Soundwave said. “I will not allow your threats to endanger this station.” 

“And if it means your station burns to the ground?” 

“Optimus!” 

“He was speaking metaphorically,” Soundwave said. “If that is the case, it will be better if it had never stood at all, Prime.” 

Optimus sighed, and the image of the tired mech faded away. This was the Optimus that Soundwave knew. The stalwart leader, the mech ready to fight to the death for his ideals. The one— 

“And what of Cosmos?” 

Soundwave nearly sighed.

“Cosmos is free to make his own decisions.” 

“If our agreement is truly at an end,” Optimus said. “I will not stand by while my soldiers are endangered. Cosmos will come with me.” 

“Prime—”

“That was an  _ order,  _ Cosmos.” Optimus still sounded more frustrated than angry, and Soundwave could only hope that was a good thing. “Not a request. Unless you are willing to resign from the Autobots.” 

“Resign?” Cosmos looked from Optimus to Soundwave, then back again. “You’re not serious.” 

“I am. I know you are... _ fond _ , of Soundwave and what he has created here—” Soundwave thanked millions of years of discipline for not outwardly reacting when  _ fond  _ sounded so synonymous with  _ rust infection.  _ “But you must remember your place.” 

Cosmos bristled at that, suddenly feeling far more abrasive than Soundwave was used to. 

And then he turned to Soundwave. 

“Soundwave?” The sensation vanished, and then there was just Cosmos staring up at him. Scared, yes, but also angry and sad. Thinking of Soundwave. Thinking of Prowl, how he wouldn’t even have a chance to say  _ goodbye.  _

“I cannot make that decision for you, Cosmos.” 

He  _ could— _ Cosmos was an errant thought away from making the choice Soundwave so badly wanted him to make. A simple word, the gentlest touch on his shoulder. Any of that would do the job, and then Cosmos would stay. And Soundwave would have half a chance.  

And then Soundwave would be no better than Bombshell, no better than the choices he had been agonizing over a moment ago.

Prowl didn’t deserve what had happened to him. 

Neither did Cosmos. 

“You will see him again, Cosmos,” Soundwave said. Knowing Prowl, there was no doubt that if Prowl wanted something—or some _ one— _ he would go to the ends of the universe to get it. 

Soundwave understood the sentiment. “Of that I am certain.”   

“I. Uh.” Cosmos wavered, and for one painful,  _ hopeful _ moment, Soundwave thought his answer would be different. “Optimus. Give me a minute to get my stuff? I had some things brought here while I was recovering.” 

“Of course.” The Prime’s thoughts had settled back into their normal patterns, but he was not done with Soundwave yet. Not now, maybe not tomorrow, but one day Optimus would decide Sanctuary Station needed to be destroyed. 

Soundwave would just have to be ready for it. 

“Soundwave?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can you…” Cosmos trailed off, and now he was refusing to look at Soundwave. “Tell Prowl it’s just you and him. And that I’ll be in touch when I can.” 

“Of course.” 

The medbay and Cosmos’s habsuite were in two different directions. Prime knew it as well as Cosmos did. Soundwave took a right. Cosmos took a left. 

The walk to the medbay was slow. Lonely. His footsteps echoed—it was the end of the work cycle, and the station’s residents were switching shifts. Somewhere, Prowl’s quarry was plotting. Soundwave tried to focus, to more actively scan the processors of the commune’s residents, but thoughts were slippery and vague. Half-asleep. Their diminished awareness mingled with Soundwave’s, and for a single, terrifying moment Soundwave was more tired than he had been in his entire life, as the compounded exhaustion slammed into him with all the grace of a bull in a grocery store. 

“Thanks for the warning,” Scalpel was saying, and Soundwave looked up. “This idiot won’t go in the CR chamber.”

He had arrived in the medbay without realizing it. 

Scalpel was a minibot. He had trained under Flatline and Hook for most of the war and was a capable medic, bedside manner notwithstanding. At some point he had modified his right hand to showcase his namesake, bulky fingers giving way to razor-sharp claws that could gut a mech in a microsecond. At first glance, they looked like a mnemosurgeon’s needles, which was probably why Prowl was sitting ramrod straight, flinching whenever the medic approached. There was also, Soundwave noted with some despair, no sign of a sedative. 

“Was a sedative offered?” Soundwave asked, instead. 

“No sedatives.” Prowl snapped, and Scalpel tossed a piece of charred armor into the waste disposal. “I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust you, and  _ where is Cosmos?”  _

“Optimus Prime will not be returning for you within the foreseeable future,” Soundwave said. Perhaps it was best to start with the good news. “My agreement with him is at an end.” 

Prowl snorted, then pitched forward as Scalpel pushed his non-bladed hand into his back. Soundwave watched as Scalpel dug around, eventually emerging with another handful of ruined plating. 

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.” Prowl’s hands were leaving dents in the examination table, Soundwave noted, though he couldn’t find the energy to be truly irritated. “Stop avoiding the question.” 

Soundwave sighed. 

“Optimus Prime has recalled Cosmos.” 

_ “Unicron’s spark!”  _ Prowl leapt off the table and moved away from Scalpel, and shouted a few choice words in English. Then: “I am trying to solve a problem here.” 

“You’re not gonna be solving anything if you don’t get that patched up,” Scalpel said, pointing with one knife-edged finger. “You’re leaking. Worse than that other one he brought in. Worse than  _ Soundwave.  _ You three—” 

“Shut up.” Prowl turned to Soundwave. “Did you tell him?” 

“I told Cosmos he had a choice.” 

“You told…” Prowl laughed. 

The laugh was over too quickly for Soundwave to record it. 

“Cosmos isn’t gonna go against Prime. Not like this, not when he thinks there’s no chance. We need to persuade him.” 

_ Oh.  _

“I will not turn another mech’s mind against them,” Soundwave said. “Not again.” 

“Yeah, a little late for that.” But Prowl waved a dismissive hand. “You  _ could  _ have made him stay.” 

“I will not.” 

Prowl stared, apparently at a loss for words.

Soundwave had a moment to be proud he had surprised the tactician.

“You…” Prowl shook his head. “I—I am not dealing with this right now. We need to get Cosmos back. I’m going to comm him.” 

Prowl frowning.

“And Optimus.” 

Scalpel was moving towards Prowl again. Soundwave shook his head, trying to be subtle, but Prowl noticed, and backed up, until he had sandwiched himself between Soundwave and the wall. Soundwave supposed it was a compliment that, in that moment, Prowl trusted him enough not to throw him to Scalpel. 

“I can’t work in these conditions.” Scalpel threw his hands up. “No CR chamber, no sedatives, like I’m on some kind of backwater mudball again. You know how to debride a wound, Soundwave?” 

“Yes.” 

“You do it.” Scalpel threw a bottle of solvent at Soundwave’s head. “Call me when he’s ready to behave. I’ll be in my office.”

Soundwave caught the bottle. Prowl eyed it with a now-familiar suspicion, but did not move. 

“I will leave,” Soundwave said. “If you will sit down and allow Scalpel to finish his repairs.” 

“No.” Prowl was leaning against the wall now, and when he stepped away, leaving behind a smear of Energon. “Cosmos will be back in a moment. I am sure he’ll want to see you.” 

Prowl sat back down. The fact that he was quite obviously turned away from Soundwave had not escaped his notice. Likely he wanted to hurry this up so as to reunite with Cosmos.

Soundwave would have to be careful not to fracture this fragile trust. 

He pulled up a chair. The injury was cleaner than he expected—Scalpel wasn’t a  _ bad  _ medic. Just impatient. And Soundwave had repaired mechs a quarter Prowl’s size, on battlefields with no backup, with no supplies other than his own two hands. 

“You are confident you do not want a sedative?” 

“Just do it, Soundwave.” There was an awkward beat of silence. “Please.” 

Soundwave couldn’t argue with that. 

“As you wish.” 

Soundwave uncapped the bottle. Gently, he accessed the medical port on Prowl’s lower back. It opened with a soft hiss as Soundwave unplugged the damaged Energon lines, directing the tubing segments to to an emesis basin. 

Prowl didn’t seem to want fanfare, so Soundwave simply emptied the bottle into the injury without warning. The other mech flinched, and Soundwave held out a hand to keep him still as the debris started to flow into the basin. 

“What did you tell him?” Soundwave asked. Prowl’s frame was warm under his hand. The injury had probably gotten infected at some point. The dried Energon from Prowl’s autopsy was actually an improvement over the mech’s grimy plating. 

“He can tell you when he comes back.” Prowl lifted his head and looked at the door. “Went to go put his stuff back in the habsuite.” 

“Very well.” The solvent had slowed to a trickle. Soundwave reconnected the tubing and closed the medical port, then left the basin on Scalpel’s desk with a note requesting an analysis of the material. If Prowl had lacked access to adequate medical care for this long, there was a non-zero chance he had picked up some kind of infection. 

Soundwave pushed his awareness out past the room, to examine the rest of the station. Yes, Cosmos was there. Coming to the medbay now. He wasn’t  _ happy,  _ not exactly. Relieved? It was an odd taste, lingering in the back of Soundwave’s throat. 

“And what did you tell Optimus?” 

Prowl smiled. Soundwave couldn’t see it from this angle, but he heard it, the slight uptick of his voice, the way Prowl’s exvent was ever so slightly faster than normal.

“You’ll have to figure that one out yourself, Soundwave.” 

Soundwave didn’t bother with a reply. He would figure it out, and Prowl knew that as well as he did. 

Instead, he examined the injury again. It was clean, but still open. Scalpel would have to do the rest. He composed a quick message to the station’s medic, an apology for the lack of warning and an update all tangled together in one brief transmission, sent before the door hissed open.

And there was Cosmos, standing in the doorway. His visor was bright, and the taste was even stronger now that he was so close. He regarded both Soundwave and Prowl with a steady, even gaze, and Soundwave suddenly became  _ very  _ aware his hand was still on Prowl’s arm.

Before Soundwave could adjust his position, Cosmos closed the distance between them. 

Mindful of Prowl’s injury, Cosmos pulled him close, and before Soundwave registered the pinprick of jealousy, his other hand was around Soundwave’s shoulder, yanking him across the table with ease. Proximity sensors beeped angrily until Soundwave overrode the warning. This close, Prowl’s quickly fading panic and Cosmos’s solid, unmoving presence melted together, creating a wonderfully unfamiliar mix of emotion. 

There would be consequences for this, Soundwave knew. He had chosen Prowl over Optimus, but it had been  _ his  _ choice. 

Those consequences could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm @soundwavereporting on tumblr. Come yell at me about these characters because I love them with all my heart.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to the two-part Hurting Prowl saga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for consensual but irresponsible use of telepathy as well as tactile hallucinations.

 

Prowl hadn’t failed to notice his habsuite was as far away from the station’s residents as it could be. 

Cosmos was on the opposite side, but significantly closer to the intersection of this hallway and the main corridor. Soundwave was on the same side as Prowl, but closest to the intersection. Prowl got the feeling Soundwave didn’t use his room much. 

It was a simple room, obviously unused before it had been assigned to Prowl. And it was quiet—unnervingly so, compared to the relative chaos of the previous hours.  

He peeled off the plastic covering the recharge slab, crumbling the flimsy material into a ball before tossing it to the side. His shoulder still ached, but it was dull and throbbing now, so far removed from the stabbing pain he hadn’t realized had gotten so bad. 

There was still so much to do, which was why Prowl turned away from his habsuite and walked back to Soundwave’s office. 

He wasn’t surprised to find Soundwave there. He was  _ more  _ surprised that Cosmos had actually turned in for the night. 

Prowl noted Soundwave’s armor now sported flecks of green and white paint. A quick glance at his own frame revealed substantially more noticable green and blue paint transfers against the dirty white of his armor. 

“Soundwave.” 

“Prowl.” 

That seemed to be that. No discussion about what happened in the medbay, or Optimus’s departure from the station, or what Prowl was thinking, not recharging. 

Prowl moved over to the corner and examined his handiwork. The body was three-quarters disassembled, but considering the speed at which Pseudo had worked, there was little else an autopsy could tell him. Even so, Prowl was loathe to conclude it—on the off chance he  _ did  _ find something, surely it was worth the time spent. 

Save for Soundwave diligently typing at his desk, the office was quiet. Not as quiet as the habsuite, but quiet enough that Prowl could hear his internals, his processor shifting into high gear as he prepared to work. 

On Cybertron, Prowl had avoided the quiet. The noise of the new city and the Autobot’s command post made it that much easier to ignore Bombshell’s ever-present voice chipping away at his brainpan. Of course it hadn’t mattered in the end;  Bombshell had won, and the voice had become unbearable, telling Prowl exactly what he was going to do, exactly what was going to happen. 

Prowl could hear him now, that smug, self-assured voice buried so deep in his brainpan at times it was indistinguishable from his own. No matter what Ratchet and Rung and Flatline said, there  _ was  _ still a chance Bombshell lingered in his mind, that it wasn’t just  _ trauma  _ or  _ flashbacks _ . 

Primus, he was tired. 

Prowl knelt to examine the body.  

The mech’s name was Output. According to the records Soundwave had on file, compressed neatly onto the datapad in Prowl’s hand, Output’s military career and personal life were unremarkable, save for a brief stint stranded on Earth—he had emerged from that adventure unscathed, but went on to finish his military service in obscurity. His most notable accomplishment was actually the fact that his death was the first one to occur onboard Sanctuary Station.

Like so many of Pseudo’s victims, Output was likely a victim of circumstance, in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

He had died from a punctured spark chamber. One expertly placed blade at the weak point where two segments of armor overlapped, and an unremarkable life came to a relatively unremarkable end. 

All so Pseudo could...what? Contacting Prime had derailed the investigation by hours, if not days. Why bother killing a mech first? As insurance? Had Output known something about Pseudo? Was there a chance Pseudo’s choice in victims  _ wasn’t  _ random? 

Prowl checked the datapad. Output had arrived three weeks ago, onboard a ship called the  _ Peaceful Revolution,  _ along with half a dozen other Decepticons. The ship’s captain, Blacklight, had been the one on comms duty when Prowl and Cosmos arrived. 

Prowl made a note to interview Blacklight. 

Belatedly, he noticed Soundwave had stopped typing. 

Prowl half-turned, trying to be inconspicuous as he watched Soundwave. The Decepticon was half-asleep, a fact that would have slipped past most, except Prowl knew what a mech who was half-asleep and trying to hide it looked like. 

Prowl turned back to Output’s body. 

_ If  _ Blacklight wasn’t Pseudo, he would be able to provide some insight into Output’s status within the station’s hierarchy. And if he couldn’t, one of the other mechs who had travelled on the  _ Peaceful Revolution  _ would. 

Output’s demise hadn’t yet been announced to the station’s public. That would happen first thing tomorrow, after Prowl finished his autopsy and reassembled the mech. Sky-Byte had suggested a public opportunity to mourn and see Output off—besides the nonexistent crowds were the funeral to be private, it would give Prowl a better handle on the station’s residents. The idea was simple enough that it might work: Prowl and Cosmos would stick to the shadows and watch, while the Decepticons celebrated an unremarkable life. From what Prowl had heard, most of the Decepticons onboard the station were MTOs—their entire understanding of funerals was gleaned from Earth. The chances of a service even remotely resembling a Cybertronian burial were so slim Prowl had discarded the notion entirely. 

A half-heard whisper yanked Prowl out of his thoughts. He forced his hand away from the gun holster with more force than absolutely necessary, then had to resist the urge to rub his neck. 

This was getting ridiculous. Continuing an investigation while he was so obviously distracted would do more harm than good. 

“Soundwave.” 

Thankfully, it seemed Soundwave was just as distracted as Prowl. The Decepticon’s visor brightened, and he turned to meet Prowl’s gaze. 

“Your abilities are extensive.” 

“Yes.” Soundwave seemed loathe to elaborate. Understandable. They had both lived through Functionalism, after all. For a moment, Prowl wondered what the Institute would have paid to get their hands on a mech as gifted as Soundwave. 

Prowl decided he really didn’t want to know. 

Prowl let out a slow exvent.

“Would you be able to discern if there are any remnants of Bombshell’s coding in my processor?” 

There. Casual, not desperate or hurried. 

Soundwave was quiet as he studied Prowl, long enough that Prowl became half-convinced Soundwave was already rooting around in his mind. 

“It would take a more extensive examination of your mind.” 

Not a  _ no.  _

But also not a  _ yes.  _

“You would consent to such an examination?” 

“What does it entail?” Prowl eyed Soundwave’s hands with distrust, as if the mech was about to sprout needles. 

“It is not physically invasive.” No needles, then. Thank the stars. “But it will require you to remain in close proximity to myself for an extended amount of time.” 

“Define extended.”

Soundwave tilted his head, running some unknowable calculation. 

“Accounting for your additional processor, approximately ten minutes.” 

“And you would know by then? For sure?” 

“Yes.” 

Prowl bit his lip. It was a habit picked up from the humans, one that had come about gradually, over years of interacting with them. 

He needed to make sure he wasn’t going to start displaying Bombshell’s habits. Or Chromedome’s. 

“Can you do it? Now?” 

“Of course,” Soundwave said. “Come.” 

He stood, then gestured to his chair. Prowl stood, feeling joints pop and realign, and made his way to Soundwave’s desk. His proximity sensors beeped worryingly.  

“Relax,” Soundwave said. Then, before Prowl could retort: “If you are able.” 

Prowl fought back a scowl, fixing his gaze on the blank wall ahead of him. Soundwave stood at his side, partially in his blind spot, and far too close for Prowl’s comfort. 

“I apologize,” Soundwave said. “I cannot move further away.” 

“Just do it.” Prowl gripped the arms of the chair. “Please.” 

“Would you like me to call Cosmos?” 

_ “Cos—”  _ Prowl turned away from the wall to look at Soundwave directly. “For what, moral support?” 

“He would not mind,” Soundwave said. “He is not recharging at present.” 

“What, is he talking to you?” 

Soundwave inclined his head to the datapad on his desk.

“Texting.” 

“Texting,” Prowl repeated. “Texting.” 

“Yes.” Soundwave took a measured step back. “Would you like me to message him?” 

“Do  _ you  _ want him here?” 

The words came out harsher than Prowl would have liked, but Soundwave didn’t react like an Autobot would.

“Yes.” 

At least the mech could admit it. Prowl certainly couldn’t.

“Then get him over here.”

Soundwave nodded. He moved, coming entirely into Prowl’s periphery and grabbed the datapad to type out a brief message. His fingers moved confidently across the digital keyboard; watching Soundwave so focused on his work was soothing—almost hypnotic.

Prowl disabled his proximity alarms for the next ten minutes.

“He is coming,” Soundwave said, pulling Prowl rather rudely out of his stupor. Then: 

“I would like to apologize for my role in your neural hijacking. You would not be in this situation had I not assisted Bombshell.” 

Prowl gripped the chair harder. 

“You regret it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t.” Prowl spoke through gritted teeth. “You did what you thought was right. That’s all any of us can do.” 

“You forgive me?” 

Prowl snorted. 

“Not even close.”

“Let me try again,” Soundwave said. “I would like to know how I can make it up to you.” 

“Why?” 

Out of everything Prowl had said, out of every mistrustful look and cruel thought he had directed at Soundwave today,  _ that  _ was the thing the mech chose to get offended at. 

Soundwave was going soft. Prowl blamed Cosmos.

“You are important to Cosmos,” Soundwave said. “Just as he is important to you.”

“And?” Had Soundwave stopped at that first sentence, Prowl would have understood.  _ Not  _ pissing off a wannabe-conjux was relatively important to a relationship. But why would Soundwave care if  _ Cosmos  _ was important to  _ Prowl?  _ Prowl wasn’t a factor in their relationship.

“You trust each other.” 

“I trust him,” Prowl snapped. “Whether he trusts me is a different matter entirely. What’s your point?” 

Before Soundwave could respond, the door slid open and Cosmos stepped inside. 

“What’s going on? Something wrong?” 

He wasn’t bothering to hide his confusion. 

“Nothing is wrong,” Soundwave said. “I…”

Soundwave trailed off, apparently at a loss for words. 

“Soundwave’s going to root around in my processor for a bit,” Prowl said. “We’d appreciate the moral support.” 

Slag. He’d said  _ we.  _

Which wasn’t actually a lie, it was the truth.  _ But. _

Cosmos seemed to take it in stride. 

“You’re okay with that?” 

“It needs to be done,” Prowl said. 

“O-kay.” Cosmos shuffled in place. “Where do you want me?” 

Prowl shrugged.

“Wherever you are comfortable,” Soundwave said. 

Cosmos nodded, walking towards them with the gracelessness of a mech who had been reformatted only a year ago. His clumsiness was almost endearing. 

He ended up perching on the edge of Soundwave’s desk, peering over at them with an innocent curiosity. 

“Are you ready?” Soundwave asked. 

Prowl nodded. 

“As I said before,” Soundwave repeated. “Try to relax.” 

“Hurry up.” 

_ “Prowl.”  _

“Hurry up  _ please.”  _

Prowl forced himself to meet Cosmos’s optics. The Autobot was openly gawking, as though he was anticipating Prowl’s helm to split open and reveal a Quintesson. 

Other than the discomfort of having Soundwave so close, Prowl felt absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Is it working?” 

“Yes,” Soundwave said. “You should not feel the examination.” 

“Oh,” Prowl said. “I thought—” 

“You wish to feel it?” Soundwave actually had the nerve to sound  _ worried.  _

“Yes,” Prowl said, before his processor could catch up to his voicebox. “I do.”  

“Prowl.” And now  _ Cosmos  _ sounded concerned. Prowl took a second to appreciate this was the first time in  _ years  _ anyone’s concern for him felt genuine. 

If said concern wasn’t rooted in him solving the case, Prowl would have felt flattered. 

He was ninety percent certain that was where it came from. 

“Soundwave.” 

Soundwave sighed. 

“Portions of the examination may be unpleasant.” 

“I’ve felt worse.” 

Prowl flinched when Soundwave’s hand touched his shoulder. 

“That does not mean you need to feel this.” 

Eighty percent certain. 

Prowl looked back at Cosmos, who just seemed resigned. 

“As you wish.” There was the ghost of a nudge at the back of his neck, the forgotten memory of needles sliding into his brainpan, and somehow, Prowl doubted that was Soundwave’s doing. “Would you prefer I examine automatic runtimes or stored memories first?” 

Prowl leaned back, reassured at the solid presence of the chair.

“You choose.” 

“Very well.” 

Prowl looked back at Cosmos. Cosmos sighed.

“I am beginning now.” 

In the time it took for Prowl to process his next thought, a hand emerged to touch his spark chamber. Prowl wavered, then tore his optics off Cosmos to look at his chest. 

Nothing. But he could feel thin fingers examining the thin plating, the sensitive protoform surrounding his spark. He gripped the chair as hard as he could as the hands unlatched security redundancies and ghosted over the spark itself and— 

And then it was gone. Prowl let out a ragged exvent and felt his fans kick on. 

“Do you require a break?” 

“No,” Prowl lied. “T-cog next.” 

Soundwave squeezed Prowl’s shoulder. 

“Keep your optics online,” Soundwave suggested. “Focus on Cosmos.” 

Prowl nodded. 

And then the hands were  _ in him  _ again, digging into his side, down past the newly-welded injury until they found his t-cog. Prowl couldn’t hold back a shudder as a hand folded around the component, fingers ghosting across sensitive nerve endings. 

“Does it—” Prowl forced himself to lean back, flinching when his helm brushed against Soundwave’s waist. When had he gotten so  _ close?  _ “Does it have to be hands?” 

“Would you prefer tentacles?” 

Cosmos let out a terrified hiss of static, and looked up at Soundwave, but Prowl managed a wane smile. 

“Point taken.” 

Prowl leaned back again, stopping just before the back of his helm made contact with Soundwave. 

The sensation of hands and fingers squirming inside him returned. Prowl felt himself transform without moving an inch as the component’s functionality was tested. It was an odd sensation, feeling his altmode while sitting upright and  _ seeing  _ his arms and legs. Less uncomfortable than Soundwave telepathically feeling up his spark chamber. 

His t-cog whirled again, and Prowl slipped back into his root mode. The hands paused as Soundwave thought, achingly still in Prowl’s side. And then they moved again. 

Before he could protest,  _ that  _ transformation protocol was activated and Prowl was a head with no body, no arms and no legs. He pushed back against imaginary restraints, circuitry screaming for the rest of himself, for De— 

“Primus, Prowl you’re  _ bleeding!” _

Cosmos was clutching his face, tilting Prowl’s head up. Prowl blinked against the harsh light, feeling the Energon trickling down his jaw.  

“Neural feedback,” Prowl managed. “I’m fine.” 

“Soundwave?” 

Soundwave sighed. 

“We are taking a break.” 

“A break?” Prowl wiped his face and turned to face Soundwave. “It hasn’t even been five minutes!” 

“The next segment will be far more intense on your haptic systems,” Soundwave said. “Unless you wish to discontinue the sensation.” 

“I don’t.” 

Soundwave withdrew completely, stepping back and pulling his hand away. 

“Then return in five minutes. Walk to the dispensary to ensure your motor functions have not been altered.”

“Fine.” Prowl stood on shaky legs, half-expecting the ghostly hands to haul him upright. “Want anything?” 

“I am fine,” Soundwave said. “Cosmos?” 

“Nothing for me, thanks.” 

* * *

“Is he really gonna be okay?” Cosmos asked, as soon as Prowl was out the door.

Soundwave sat in the now-dented chair and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. 

“Yes,” Soundwave said. “I doubt Bombshell has left neural triggers in Prowl’s memory files. Examining them is precautionary.” 

“Are  _ you  _ going to be okay?” 

Soundwave nodded, but didn’t look up. Cosmos slid off the desk and took a step closer to Soundwave. 

In response to the unasked question, Soundwave leaned forward. Cosmos knelt and closed the distance between them, letting Soundwave rest his helm on his shoulder. 

They had never done this before. Talked, yes, flirted harmlessly over the comlink when neither of them could sleep, but never  _ this.  _ It had always been a problem for tomorrow-Cosmos. Tomorrow-Cosmos, who  _ wasn’t  _ tired and knew what exactly he and Soundwave were, who knew exactly who he and  _ Prowl  _ were—tomorrow-Cosmos would know what to do.

Until now,  he had never been so close he could hear Soundwave’s shallow exvents, close enough that he could see the faint paint transfers from the three way hug Cosmos had initiated earlier that day.

The hug was still at the forefront of his mind. Cosmos had been ready to chalk it up to recharge deprivation, to assure both Prowl and Soundwave it would  _ never happen again,  _ but they had both accepted it with a grace Cosmos had not known either possessed. 

Soundwave had just looked  _ relieved  _ Cosmos was back. And Prowl...Prowl had initially looked shocked. Then afraid, as though they were planning to deck him. Then... _ happy?  _

Whatever it was, it suited him.

“What do you need?” 

“A moment.” Soundwave’s voice was quiet. 

“Okay.” Cosmos lifted his hand to rest it on the back of Soundwave’s neck. “Okay.” 

Soundwave remained still for one long moment. Then slowly, he sat up, but paused long enough to gently bump his head against Cosmos’s faceplate. 

“Thank you, Cosmos.” 

“Any time.” Cosmos hoped he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. Whatever happened,  _ that  _ had been worth losing recharge.

By the time Prowl returned—two minutes early, Cosmos noted—Soundwave was out of the chair, waiting patiently. 

Prowl sat, hands finding their place amongst the dents. He gritted his teeth. 

“Okay.” 

Soundwave nodded. 

Soundwave had said this would be worse than before. It was obviously hurting both of them. Prowl squirmed in the chair, optics locked on a fixed point above Cosmos’s head, and Soundwave’s hands were trembling. 

“Prowl?” Soundwave was saying. “Once I begin this segment, I will be unable to stop until I have completed the scan.” 

“This the last part?” 

“Yes.” 

“I can do it.” 

“Can  _ you  _ do it, Soundwave?” 

Soundwave met Cosmos’s gaze. 

“Yes.” 

Cosmos sighed. 

“This is  _ not  _ how I planned to spend my night.” 

“Starting now,” Soundwave said.

Prowl snorted. In the same breath, he was pinned against the chair, vents cycling rapidly. His optics were wide— _ terrified _ —staring at something only Prowl could see. 

“He is re-experiencing past…” Soundwave trailed off, as though unsure how to classify Prowl’s particular habit of going through life waiting for a knife in the back. “Memories.” 

Cosmos stood. 

“Can I?” 

Soundwave nodded. 

Prowl didn’t react as Cosmos approached. Didn’t move when Cosmos placed a hand on Prowl’s wrist. He had gone completely still, staring up at the ceiling as though a giant spider was laying in wait up there. Knowing Prowl, that wasn’t entirely out of the question. 

Soundwave’s hands were shaking noticeably now.

“How much more?” Cosmos asked. 

“Halfway.” Soundwave’s voice was strained. “I have...I have not done this in some time.” 

“What do you need?” 

“Stay,” Soundwave said, then paused, as though surprised by his own forwardness. “Please.” 

Cosmos raised his free hand, encircling his fingers around Soundwave’s. Soundwave relaxed into the touch, stumbling forward before catching himself. 

“He will regain control of his vocal functions in a moment,” Soundwave said. “Do not be disturbed when he speaks. His memories cannot further damage him.” 

“Yeah, with a warning like that, Soundwave, it’s kinda hard not to—” 

“Cosmos?” Prowl’s voice was quiet. “Cosmos,  _ what’s going on?”  _

Cosmos looked up at Soundwave. 

“Can he hear us?”

“He is unable to differentiate the present from his memories,” Soundwave said, as though that was the most normal thing in the world. Perhaps to Soundwave, it was. “Respond if it will help you.” 

“Uh. Okay,” Cosmos said. “Prowl? I’m right here.” 

Prowl winced as though Cosmos had struck him. 

“Where is he?” 

“Who?” 

Prowl pushed back against the chair. 

“I am nearly done.” 

“Soundwave’s here?” 

“Yes.” 

“He’s not—” Prowl tore his gaze away from the ceiling to look Cosmos in the optic.  “Why?” 

“He’s helping you. Helping us.” 

“With wh—” 

“Done.”

With a strangled cry, Prowl pitched forward, ramming Cosmos directly in the waist. Cosmos toppled backwards as Prowl abruptly went slack. His back hit the desk with a painful thud.

“Ow.” Cosmos said. 

Cosmos relaxed his grip on Prowl as Soundwave moved to take some of the weight, equally distributing the unconscious mech between them. 

“Habsuite?” Cosmos asked. 

“Yes,” Soundwave said. And promptly collapsed into an ungraceful heap on the floor. 

Cosmos staggered as Prowl’s dead weight pulled him down. 

He could do this. Not like he was tired or anything.

Cosmos managed an entire sigh before joining Soundwave on the floor. 

His chrono indicated barely an Earth minute passed before his processor rebooted. He reset his visor accordingly, fighting the urge to just give in to the rest his body so desperately wanted. 

He hadn’t thought he was  _ that  _ tired. 

Prowl was a dead weight on his chest. A  _ heavy  _ dead weight. 

Soundwave was slumped against the wall. Awake, but probably as exhausted as Cosmos. 

With the last of his energy, Cosmos shoved Prowl off. He rolled over like a bag of rocks. Cosmos gripped Prowl’s collar with one hand and dragged the mech as he shuffled over to lean against the wall beside Soundwave. 

“I am sorry you had to see that,” Soundwave said.

Cosmos swallowed uncomfortably hysterical laughter. 

“Yeah, me too. It always that bad?” 

“No,” Soundwave said. “Prowl’s mind is...unique.” 

“Uniquely damaged?” 

“Of a sort.” Cosmos imagined a frown behind Soundwave’s faceplate. “Unique.” 

“I know I asked before, but—he’s gonna be okay?” 

“Yes.” Soundwave straightened his leg, letting it drop to the floor. It rested against Cosmos’s knee.

“And you?” 

“In a moment.” 

Despite the situation, Cosmos was more than a little amused when, after thirty seconds had passed, Soundwave was unconscious, though Cosmos noted in a detached, vaguely amused way that stasis was fast creeping up on Cosmos as well. 

The fact that he was about to pass out on an Energon-splattered floor, in between two mechs who  _ might actually shoot him _ if they woke up wrong, was another problem for tomorrow-Cosmos to handle. 

Today-Cosmos needed to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the cassettes make their entrance, and there are extremely liberal interpretations of what a funeral is supposed to be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the cassettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A clarification on WHEN this fic takes place: 
> 
> This is happening sometime post-Galvatron, pre-Sentinel; Optimus has already annexed Earth, but Prowl hasn't gone to Luna-1 (yet). As in canon, Cosmos has been recovering from the fight with Galvatron on Sanctuary Station. HOWEVER, there is a reference to the Optimus Prime 2018 Annual in this chapter. Since I've become absolutely invested in this AU, the sequel is going to deal with Sentinel, the Junkions, and will NOT feature any ridiculous crossovers.

Soundwave woke to skim the dozens of messages that had piled up in his inbox over the last day. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw’s trip to Earth had been abruptly cut short by the termination of his alliance with Prime. They would be back early tomorrow—it  _ was  _ tomorrow, Soundwave noted. If they weren’t back yet, they would be soon. Sky-Byte was planning Output’s memorial. Needlenose wanted to see him. Their supply of Ore-13 Energon was running low.

Soundwave lifted his head when he heard Prowl over in the far corner, where Output’s body lay. Through the staticky haze of stasis-induced recharge, Soundwave reasoned that were it not for millions of years worth of war, he might be more than a little bothered by a corpse leaking in his office for the better part of a day. 

Navigating Prowl’s mind had taken a greater toll than he expected. Save the distress he had caused his subject, it would have been the most fascinating processor Soundwave had ever had delved into. More fascinating than Megatron’s.

Prowl was standing over Output’s partially reassembled body, hands on his hips as he considered the scene, and Soundwave briefly saw Prowl as he had been before the war, an investigator on the hunt, unencumbered by millions of years of war and its aftermath. He looked like someone Soundwave would have enjoyed working with, someone who  _ wasn’t  _ simultaneously terrified and furious whenever he remembered Soundwave was in the room. 

At some point he had fallen asleep again, because the next time Soundwave looked up to see what had set his proximity alarms off, Prowl was standing above him. He wasn’t nearly as serene as before; there was a tightness in the curve of his mouth now, but the tension in his frame hadn’t returned. Yet. 

Soundwave overrode the battle protocols his proximity sensors had activated. 

“Thank you,” Prowl said. “For helping me.”

“You are welcome.” Soundwave let himself relax, slouching unprofessionally against the wall. “As I am sure you surmised, there are no remnants of the cerebro-shell coding in your processor.” 

Prowl looked like he wanted to argue. Soundwave was only half-disappointed when he didn’t. 

“Why do I believe you?” 

An odd question, considering Prowl had been the one to ask Soundwave for the examination. Likely there would be no convincing Prowl with words—only action would suffice. But what that action  _ was,  _ Soundwave didn’t know. 

“It is the truth.” 

“Or you could be in my head.” Prowl sank to his knees. This close, Prowl’s mood was almost contagious. “Telling me what to think. Telling me it’s okay.” 

“What am I telling you?” 

Prowl grimaced. He was trembling, fury and terror mixed together to dizzying effect. 

“Nothing. But I could  _ feel you  _ in my head.” 

Prowl couldn’t be convinced with words, but he kept talking. Soundwave couldn’t classify it as  _ rambling,  _ but talking when there was no winning, no point to be made  _ was  _ rambling. And Prowl expected an answer. 

Soundwave opted for the noncommittal, not wanting to point out  _ Prowl  _ had been the one who wanted to feel it. 

“Take comfort in the knowledge that whatever I want from you, I am able to get it without manipulating your mind.” 

“And what is that?” Prowl snapped. “What do you want from me?” 

“Nothing you are unwilling to give.” 

Cosmos would call that Soundwave-speak for  _ I have no idea.  _ Thankfully, Prowl was as fluent in hidden meanings as Soundwave. 

Prowl laughed. Again, too short for Soundwave to record it. 

“Guess we’re on the same page.” Prowl rocked back on his heels and sat down, leaning against Soundwave’s desk. 

“I am sorry there is no way to empirically confirm my findings,” Soundwave said. “Short of an independent mnemosurgeon examining your processor.”

_ “No.”  _ Prowl’s hand went back to his gun. “No mnemosurgeons.” 

“Then you will have to trust that your mind is your own.” 

Prowl scoffed, and the tension flooded back into his frame.

“You’re asking a bit much.” 

“I know.” Soundwave shifted position—slowly, keeping his hands in Prowl’s periphery, until he was leaning more comfortably against the wall. “Understand I only want the best—” 

“So did Optimus Prime. So did  _ Megatron,”  _ Prowl snapped. “And look where that got us.”

“And I will learn from their mistakes,” Soundwave said. “That is all any of us can do.” 

Prowl graced that answer with a curt nod. Soundwave took a moment to be pleased he had supplied the right answer, before Prowl spoke again. 

“And where do I fit in?” 

“Fit in?” 

Prowl sighed. 

“You want me here for something, or you wouldn’t have offered me a place.  _ What.” _

Oh. Soundwave  _ had  _ considered it, and quickly dismissed it as soon as he had tasted Prowl’s dislike of him. Had Prowl changed his mind? 

“As I told Prime,” Soundwave said. “Sanctuary for all is not an exaggeration. You are free to remain here without obligation.”

“That’s remarkably shortsighted of you.” 

Beside him, Cosmos shifted. Not enough to convince Soundwave he was waking up, but enough that Soundwave lowered his voice. He couldn’t remember the last time someone who  _ wasn’t  _ one of his minicons had slept beside him like this. It had definitely been sometime during the war, likely in a filthy, hastily-carved trench during some siege.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Prowl glanced at Cosmos. “It is shortsighted. How are you going to supply this place? Are you planning on letting Prime annex you, and if you aren’t, are you prepared to fight to maintain your sovereignty?” 

“I assume you have thought of something.” 

Prowl seemed to relax—to most, he would have looked just as tense as a moment ago, but there was a slight difference in the tilt of his head, the expression on his face as he considered Soundwave. 

“I would have negotiated an agreement for my extradition. Keeping you on Prime’s good side, guaranteeing consistent fuel for years, one less former-Autobot-shaped thorn in your side.” Prowl ticked off the reasons on one hand. “But you didn’t.” 

“I did not.” 

“You should have.” 

“No.” Soundwave let out a quiet ex-vent. “I will not allow this place to remain hostage to the whims of a Prime. Sanctuary Station will remain free.” 

“Even so,” Prowl said. “You’ve got someone who cares about you.” 

Soundwave followed Prowl’s gaze to Cosmos’s sleeping form. The confirmation that  _ yes, Cosmos cared about him  _ was enough to send Soundwave’s spark somersaulting. But Cosmos’s affection for Prowl couldn’t be discounted.  

“What about you?” Soundwave had burned the bridge between himself and Optimus Prime primarily for his own benefit—but he would not lie and say he hadn’t  _ partially  _ done it to keep Prowl with Cosmos—safely out of the Prime’s hands. 

“What?” Prowl laughed, but it was short and awkward—Soundwave much preferred Prowl’s sarcasm-laden laugh. “No. I don’t think so.”

“He trusts you,” Soundwave insisted. “Or he would not have brought you here.” 

“I don’t think I’ve done much to earn it.” 

“You have only done what you believed right.” 

“You know that’s a lie.” The gun was back in Prowl’s hands, but the safety was on. “You’ve been in my head. You’ve seen every compromise, every lie, every little action that brought me to the point where my own friends didn’t realize my brain had been hijacked.” 

“And he still trusts you.” 

“Maybe he shouldn’t.” Prowl’s voice was quiet. “Maybe neither of you should.” 

Despite the circumstances, Soundwave smiled. 

“I trust you?” 

“You’ve allowed me to conduct an investigation with minimal interference on your part.” Prowl was disassembling the gun without looking. His hands moved confidently, effortlessly reducing the weapon to its base components. “I would call that  _ trust.”  _

“You feel it is unwarranted?” Cosmos stirred again. Soundwave debated with himself for a long moment before resting his hand on the Autobot’s shoulder. Prowl watched the display neutrally, Soundwave was relieved to note. He couldn’t begrudge Prowl jealousy—he had been encouraging him only a moment ago. 

“No, not that,” Prowl said, and Soundwave realized he was continuing their discussion. “I’ll close the case. You let me interview the shifter and walk around here unsupervised. In my book, that’s  _ trust.” _

“I suppose it is.” Soundwave was seized with the irrational urge to reach out and touch Prowl’s shoulder, to bridge the distance between him and Cosmos. He settled for settling his free hand on the floor, palm up. “You have done nothing to make me regret my decision.” 

Prowl glanced at Soundwave’s hand. The gun’s casing clicked gently into place and Prowl returned the weapon to its holster. 

“I see.” Prowl stood and stretched, then turned back to Soundwave. “Like I said. Thank you.” 

“You are welcome.” 

That seemed to be the end of it. 

Soundwave didn’t bother resisting when he slipped back into a light doze, vaguely aware of Prowl’s presence as he moved throughout the room, reassembling Output’s body with the same care used to take it apart. 

When a sharp jab brought him back to full awareness, Soundwave was only half-surprised to see Prowl was gone. Output’s body had been removed, and the Energon had been cleaned off the walls and floor. 

“Boss,” Laserbeak was saying. “You’ve been  _ busy.”  _

“Laserbeak.” Soundwave turned to the other cassette, who was examining Soundwave’s newly-dented chair with interest. “Buzzsaw.” 

“And not just with E.T.” Laserbeak nudged a patch of white paint. “Who’s the new guy?” 

“Prowl is here to conduct an investigation.” 

_ “Prowl?”  _ Buzzsaw pushed the chair out and took a seat. “You know how to pick ‘em, boss.” 

“No accounting for taste.” Laserbeak offered Cosmos’s sleeping form a flat stare. “I suppose.” 

“It is not like that,” Soundwave insisted. “How are the twins?” 

Laserbeak snorted. “Fine. They’re not happy your truce with Prime blew up. Their stupid ‘movie’ isn’t done yet, but Prime’s insisting every Decepticon be off Earth by the end of the week.” 

“Your trip was scheduled to conclude in two days,” Soundwave said. “Why did you return so soon?”

“Primus, boss.” Buzzsaw jumped off the chair to land on Soundwave’s other shoulder. “Is it so hard to think we were  _ worried  _ about you? We half expected to come home and find Optimus displaying  _ your  _ head on a pike.”

“And instead we find you cuddling up to Autobots.” Ignoring Soundwave’s glare, Laserbeak hopped to Cosmos’s shoulder and administered the same peck that had woken Soundwave so abruptly. “Green eggs and ham was bad enough, but you had to had to go find the one mech even  _ Optimus Prime  _ thinks is irredeemable.” 

“Wh—” Cosmos sat up, visor glitching as it rebooted. He turned to see Laserbeak, staring at him with a knowing smile. “Primus! I didn’t—we didn’t—Laserbeak!” 

“Hello.” Satisfied Cosmos was adequately flustered, Laserbeak jumped back to Soundwave’s shoulder and proceeded to pretend to examine his wings.

“Soundwave.” Cosmos stood and backed up, hands up in a show of deference. “I promise, I swear  _ I didn’t mean to—”  _

“I know.” Laserbeak and Buzzsaw hopped onto the desk as Soundwave stood, feeling his joints protest at the sudden movement. “I did not mind.” 

Cosmos looked at the cassettes, who had given up the pretense of not eavesdropping and were openly gawking at him.  __

“You didn’t?” 

“No,” Soundwave said, and it was the truth. Cosmos seemed to frown behind his facemask, but didn’t argue. Soundwave watched as the Autobot stood on unsteady legs, holding out a hand to balance himself against the wall.    
“We have much to do,” Soundwave said, ignoring Laserbeak and Buzzsaw’s unsubtle stares. “Come.” 

“Oh! Okay.” Cosmos glanced at the cassettes, who stared back. “Where’s...where did Prowl go?” 

“Figured he’d be the one to dine and dash,” Laserbeak muttered. Buzzsaw nodded, then pushed a mental string of  _ Prowl-tied-red-tape  _ over to Soundwave. Soundwave fought the urge to turn and scowl at the cassette, who  _ really  _ had no business thinking of Soundwave’s companions like that. 

And they weren’t  _ really  _ his companions, Soundwave thought, directing the thought at Buzzsaw. They were here in an official capacity, to help Soundwave with a problem he hadn’t realized he had. 

“Likely recharging,” Soundwave said to Cosmos. “Let us collect him.” 

“Right.” Cosmos turned to the cassettes. “Uh. Bye?”

Laserbeak blinked. 

“Like he said,” Laserbeak muttered, as soon as Cosmos was out the door. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.” 

Soundwave didn’t grace that statement with a reply. 

“I said it better.” 

“Did not.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Sanctuary Station has its very first funeral! Cosmos and Prowl have a chat.
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! I'm glad so many people are liking my self-indulgent fix it fic!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl's eye wanders, Cosmos has a little too much to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains: drinking, foreshadowing, computer-generated poetry, and fantasies that get abruptly interrupted.

 

Cosmos had never been to a real funeral. There had been the send off on the  _ Lost Light  _ at the very beginning, and scattered burials during the war, but none carried the weight of this particular event. 

Cosmos wasn’t sure  _ weight  _ was the right word. None of the Decepticons seemed to really know the deceased—judging by the amount of engex being served over the counter and the upbeat, imported rock music, it felt more like a party than a funeral. Output’s eulogy, delivered by Sky-Byte with Soundwave lingering awkwardly in the back, had been touching but vague, as though no one had stepped forward to offer details of the mech who had lived in obscurity for his entire short life. 

But Cosmos supposed that because he had never been to a funeral, he really couldn’t judge. Instead, he sat next to Prowl and nursed a glass of engex, watching Prowl watch the Decepticons. Cosmos tried to imagine what Prowl saw—how many of them did he  _ know,  _ whether by reputation or direct conflict? Did he only see threat levels and takedown calculations, or was their biographical data there as well? 

Sky-Byte was standing at the bar, next to Soundwave. He finished and made his way to the hastily-erected platform to take the microphone in one clawed hand. 

“I composed this for my amica,” Sky-Byte said. “He was killed during the Siege of Sythx.” 

Comos glanced at Prowl. Were they supposed to clap? Nod in understanding? 

Sky-Byte didn’t wait for a response. 

_ “How do I love you? Let me count the ways. _

_ I love your unlawful cold, smile and gaze. _

_ Thinking of your woful smile fills my days. _

_ My love for you is the arable res. _

_ Now I must away with a benchmark heart, _

_ Remember my main words whilst we're apart.” _

Sky-Byte stepped back from the microphone and bowed.

“Thank you.” 

Cosmos finished his engex. It went down easily, leaving his circuits warm. He hadn’t frequented Swerve’s enough to see how much it took to get him thoroughly overcharged—Ratchet had suggested his reformatted would lend itself to  _ more  _ drinking. 

Cosmos wondered how Swerve and the others were doing. 

He looked back to Prowl, but Prowl was staring at the bar. At Soundwave. Who was staring back. 

Oh. 

Cosmos hadn’t asked what had gone on between Prowl and Soundwave after he had passed out in Soundwave’s office. He was sure  _ something  _ had, because Prowl was acting... _ squirrelly, _ to use the Earth phrase. Like something Soundwave said had rattled him. He had kept Cosmos between himself and Soundwave all day, like some kind of awkwardness-absorbing buffer. 

And for the most part, it had worked. 

“Um,” Cosmos said. “Prowl?”

Prowl broke eye contact with Soundwave and turned to fix his stare on Cosmos. 

“You okay?” Cosmos inclined his head at the drink in Prowl’s hand. “I—uh, you want another one? I can go get it. Or you can! Except, you know, Soundwave’s over there.”

“Why would I take issue with Soundwave’s presence?” 

“Um.” Cosmos faltered, unsure whether the middle of a Decepticon funeral was the best place to be discussing Prowl’s romantic inclinations. “I assumed you two had a talk. Or a fight.”  

“We didn’t.” 

“Oh.” Cosmos looked down at his drink. “What happened?” 

“What do you mean?” Now Prowl was glaring at the empty glass. 

“I mean, ah, you two seemed to be getting along is all,” Cosmos managed. “Working together.” 

“You think so?” 

“Yeah?” 

Cosmos attempted to take another sip from the empty glass. Prowl shot another glare in Soundwave’s direction. 

“Some people,” Prowl said through gritted teeth. “Think that just because they say and do a few good things, they can erase the five million years of war that preceded the good things.”

The song—some tune about human intercourse—ended, and a slower, quieter one began. Prowl waited until the chorus before continuing. 

“It’s not right. It didn’t work for Megatron and it’s  _ certainly  _ not working for  _ him. _ ” 

Cosmos swallowed. 

“Not to speak for Soundwave or anything,” Cosmos said uneasily. “But I don’t think that’s what he’s trying to do.”    

“He can’t expect I’ll just  _ forget  _ what he did to me.” 

“Did he tell you to?” 

“No,” Prowl admitted. “But by staying here, by me  _ accepting  _ this place, he is.” 

“So he offered you a place here.” 

“Offered us both a place,” Prowl muttered. “Did you forget?” 

“I didn’t,” Cosmos said. “I just thought it was...what’s the phrase—figurative? Rhetorical? Like you do it to be polite but don’t expect to be taken up on it.” 

“Oh.” Prowl leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “You think that’s what it was?” 

“For me? Yeah. Maybe not for you. Since, you know.” 

“Know  _ what.”  _

“Nothing!” 

_ “Cosmos.” _

Cosmos groaned.

“Er. I figured since you both hate Optimus, you’d. You know. Get along.”  Cosmos looked down at his drink and wished he could melt into the floor. 

“You think  _ Soundwave  _ and I—” Prowl choked out a laugh. “No. Not happening.” 

“Hey!” Cosmos glared at a group of Decepticons who thought they had nothing better to do than stare, then turned back to Prowl. “Is that so out of the question?” 

“It’s  _ Soundwave.”  _

“So?” Cosmos snapped. “There’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with him. He reminds me of you, actually.” 

Prowl redirected his glare to Cosmos. 

“You’re both stupid and stubborn,” Cosmos said. “Stuck thinking you’ll never be able to change who you are—except you  _ don’t have to.  _ You’re  _ fine. _ ”   

Cosmos crossed his arms. Prowl was staring at him as though he had grown a second head. 

“And. You both tolerate me,” he finished. Lamely. 

“Primus.” 

“Sorry.” Cosmos uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in his seat. “I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t—” Prowl cut himself off. “I trust you, Cosmos. That goes a lot further than  _ tolerating.  _ And I don’t hate him.” 

“Soundwave?” Cosmos wasn’t sure what it meant to be one of the few—the  _ only?— _ mechs Prowl trusted at this particular low point in his life.  __

Prowl’s mouth twitched. “Optimus. Soundwave too. I think. Pit, I don’t know.” 

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” Cosmos suggested. “Clear the air, or whatever the human saying is.” 

“I’m  _ working. _ ” Prowl glared at empty glass again. “The middle of an investigation is no place for discussing romantic endeavors.” 

“Not romantic, then,” Cosmos said. “Professional.” 

Prowl jabbed the empty glass with an accusatory finger, but he hadn’t glared at Soundwave for a minute or so. Cosmos supposed that might be considered  _ progress _ . “No.”   

“Okay.” Cosmos raised his hands in a show of deference. “How’s it going? The investigation, I mean.” 

Prowl leaned back in his seat. He was still filthy, covered in dirt and grit from living who-knows-where, Cosmos noted. But Prowl  _ had  _ taken the time to wipe off the Energon that had smeared his body while moving Output’s corpse. Cosmos supposed that was progress.

“I uncovered a lead.” 

“That’s good! Right?” Cosmos narrowed his optics. “You don’t sound happy.” 

“The neutral scientist Makeshift mentioned,” Prowl said through gritted teeth. “I spent some time looking into what’s left of his research.” 

Cosmos could only shrug. “Still not hearing the downside.” 

“The  _ downside  _ is that he was last seen on  _ Earth,”  _ Prowl snapped. “Earth, where Optimus Prime sits,  _ waiting  _ for me to set foot off this station so he can arrest me! Or kill me, if he’s feeling  _ especially  _ generous.” 

“That is...problematic,” Cosmos said, trying vainly to be neutral. He had managed to avoid thinking about the tangled mess of loyalties for the better part of the day, mostly by enjoying the fact that all day, Soundwave had been practically close enough to  _ touch.  _ Until Prowl and Soundwave were off the market, Cosmos wasn’t going to curb his imagination, which had only been lubricated by the amount of engex he had consumed this evening. “But you’re going to go.” 

“Of course.” Prowl glanced at the stage. “Alone.” 

“Alone?” Cosmos’s voicebox spluttered and reset. “You can’t go alone!” 

“I don’t trust  _ him— _ ” Prowl inclined his head back at Soundwave. “And I’m not taking you with me.” 

“And why not?” 

“I didn’t use good blackmail so you could running back to Prime the first chance you get.” Prowl gestured vaguely with his free hand. “He’d say something like ‘Cosmos, I deeply regret the circumstances of our last parting. Know that I will do everything in my power to rectify the situation’, and you’d go back to him in a  _ heartbeat.”  _

“You said five minutes ago you trusted me.” Cosmos deliberately ignored the pointed look and too-accurate impersonation and leaned back in his chair. “Trust me not to waste your blackmail. Plus, I’m the only one on this station that’s got the stealthpaint  _ and  _ the latest updates to Brainstorm’s hardlight program.” 

Prowl glared. “I thought you’d give them to me before I left.” 

Cosmos snorted, pushing his empty glass away. He was never drinking here again. The warm hum of undiluted engex in his fuel lines was  _ nice,  _ but not nice enough to counteract the realization that slowly but surely, he was getting very,  _ very  _ drunk. “Yeah right. We should bring Soundwave, too.” 

_ “Absolutely not.”  _

“Hey!” Cosmos protested. “You’re worried about Optimus finding us? He’s a walking, talking mind-reading early warning system who put himself on the line to save  _ your  _ butt from Optimus.” 

“And I suppose the fact that the ship is so small you’ll practically be sitting in his lap never crossed your mind?” Before Cosmos could protest, Prowl shook his head. “Or he’ll be sitting in your lap—you’re big enough now.” 

Cosmos cursed the heat blossoming on his faceplates, as his engex-addled brain conjured an image of Soundwave straddling him, all warmth and pressure against Cosmos’s legs and chest as he— 

Cosmos grit his teeth. Prowl was smiling. It was more of a  _ smirk  _ than a genuine smile, but it was more than Cosmos had seen in months.  

Cosmos wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be flattered or furious. Prowl was  _ joking  _ with him.  _ Trying  _ to joke, really, but joking nonetheless. 

“Well if  _ you’re  _ not gonna sit there, Soundwave might as well.” 

Now it was Prowl’s turn to look flustered, optic widening as he pushed away from the table to mutter protests and gesture helplessly. Before Cosmos could  _ really  _ enjoy the sight, Prowl straightened, and the smirk was back. 

“Maybe I just want to watch.” 

“Why aren’t you as drunk as I am?” Cosmos muttered, unable to conjure up with a suitably snappy retort. “You’re smaller than me.”

Prowl nudged an empty glass with one finger. 

“This is nothing. Compared to the stuff Mi—” Prowl trailed off. “Yeah. Not that strong.” 

“Whatever.” Cosmos didn’t have the drive space to worry about Prowl’s lack of love life. Not that Cosmos was one to talk. 

Sky-Byte finished his poetry and absconded, leaving the microphone open to the public. Mechs were lining up to speak, engex in hand. Cosmos wondered if he and Prowl were supposed to say something. 

Prowl nodded to the mech at the front of the line, and Cosmos followed his gaze, trying  _ not  _ to look back at Soundwave. “That’s Backlight. Captain of the  _ Peaceful Resolution.  _ Output traveled with him.” 

“Oh.” Cosmos studied the mech. Backlight was all blues and grays, soft yellow optics scanning the room as though he was looking for someone. “He’s nice. Pretty. I guess. You’re gonna interview him?” 

“Naturally.” Prowl collected the glasses and stood. “Meet me at the ship in the morning if you’re still feeling up to it.” 

Cosmos nodded. The lights were moving, bouncing off Prowl’s dirty armor in a way that wasn’t entirely unattractive. 

“Do you need help getting to your room?” 

“I’m fine,” Cosmos muttered. He needed a minute to cool down, to get the awful,  _ wonderful  _ image of Soundwave  _ and  _ Prowl out of his head. He’d take a minute and get to his habsuite before Soundwave decided he wanted to come over and make small talk. 

When he looked up, Prowl was gone. 

The soft flutter of wings and the dual weights on his shoulder alerted him to the presence of Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. The weight was grounding, a firm reminder he  _ wasn’t  _ in the middle of a very weird dream. 

“You  _ know  _ we’re not too fond of you,” Laserbeak muttered. “Especially when it comes to your little crush on the boss.” 

“Worse that it’s mutual!” Buzzsaw added. “So much worse.” 

“Mutual.” Buzzsaw was on his right and Laserbeak was on his left. Or was it the other way around? “Mutual?”

“Unfortunately,” the one on his right said. “Of all the mechs on this station, the boss had to pick the most pathetic.” 

“And the most Autobot-y.” 

“Is that even a word?” 

“Prowl’s not an Autobot,” Cosmos muttered. He needed to comm Soundwave about the departure time before Prowl got it in his head to ditch them and leave early. “He hates Prime.” 

“Don’t we all?” 

“I don’t.” Cosmos reached up to pat one of the cassette’s heads and received a nipped finger for his trouble. “I don’t think I do?” 

Cosmos dropped his hand into his lap. “Can you, uh. Text Soundwave for me.” 

“Depends.” 

Cosmos decided that meant  _ yes.  _

“Tell him, um. Um. We’re leaving in the morning. With him. And Prowl. Not just me. On B63-A98. To Earth.” 

“Are  _ we  _ invited?” 

Cosmos blinked, optics focusing and refocusing on the table. What had once been a dingy gray now looked warm and comforting. 

“No? I don’t think so.” He coughed. “Hope not.” 

_ “Rude.”  _

“Anyway, can you just text him? Please?” 

“Since you said  _ please.”  _ Cosmos felt the weight on his shoulders shift as the cassette adjusted his position. “Dear Soundwave. I dream about you every night.  I find myself wishing you would invite me to your room and tie me up and—” 

“Shut  _ up.”  _

“—and then  _ Prowl  _ will come in, and he’ll—” 

“Primus, someone’s gonna  _ hear you.”  _

Buzzsaw—Cosmos was pretty sure it was Buzzsaw—scoffed. 

“We’re just taking your fantasies to their natural conclusion.” The cassette preened, letting his wings flare out to reflect the weird and colorful bokeh lights someone had rigged for the occasion. “If you didn’t want us to hear, you should’ve kept quiet.”

“You were  _ listening to us?”  _

“That  _ is  _ our job.” 

“I don’t think it is.” 

“You’re right.” One of them hopped onto the table. “It’s our job to get you to your habsuite before you really make a fool out of yourself. So stand up, Autobot.” 

“Thanks,” Cosmos mumbled, and proceeded to fall face-first onto the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the author goes into way too much detail describing a small town on the coast of the Bering Sea.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: foreshadowing, PTSD, aversion to touch, awkward handholding, and substantially less of Nome, Alaska than I would have liked.

Prowl’s mind was more prickly than usual, prodding the edges of Soundwave’s already tired processor with insistent jabs. The flight to Earth had been awkward, saved only by Cosmos wedged in between them, alternating between sleeping on Soundwave or Prowl’s shoulder. The reconnaissance in town? Awkward.

The drive to rendezvous with Cosmos? Even more awkward. 

Accidentally touching Prowl’s holomatter avatar as they stepped out into the street? Even worse, somehow. 

Soundwave had instantly regretted the accidental touch. The reaction was instant, panic and fear seizing Prowl’s higher processes with frightening intensity. 

Soundwave knew how to help Prowl— _ not  _ being Soundwave would certainly help, but that was far beyond his capabilities. And Soundwave  _ wanted  _ to help him. Not just for Cosmos’s benefit, though that was reason enough. Soundwave wasn’t foolish enough to believe he was capable of handling the station’s operations alone; even with Sky-Byte’s help they were woefully underprepared. Pseudo surfacing so effortlessly was a perfect example. 

Prowl would be a useful asset to the station. But he had to be  _ willing.  _ Anything else was unacceptable. 

Cosmos was waiting at the rendezvous point. Designated Alma Gulch, it seemed to be the last named point between this town and the next. The bridge overlooked piles of slowly-rotting organic debris, a trail that slowly led out to a barren field.

Despite the stealthpaint, Soundwave spotted him immediately. He sat cross-legged among a pile of discarded wood, debris from the ship arranged in a way that vaguely reminded Soundwave of Output’s autopsy.

“Cosmos.” Soundwave wasn’t  _ stupid,  _ nor was he blind—he saw the way Cosmos brightened when he saw them approach. Even Prowl seemed to relax at the sight—and Soundwave couldn’t blame him. He and Prowl had incurred enough suspicion already—despite their cover story they had prepared for the locals, it took only one suspicious human to call the  _ real  _ EDC. 

The Autobot’s armor was dark, green and red dimmed by the monochrome stealthpaint. Were it not for the shining blue optics and the processor humming with  _ life _ , Cosmos could have passed for a dead mech. 

“Hey.” Cosmos held up a datapad. “Found something. A lot of somethings, actually.” 

“Anything  _ useful?”  _ Prowl’s frustration was nearly palpable, a cloud of suffocating grays and blacks that had Soundwave taking an instinctive step away before he stopped himself.

“Um.” Cosmos shrugged, gesturing with one hand to the salvage. “Check for yourself. There’s a lot of notes, some waterlogged tech.” 

Prowl nodded. Without waiting for a response, he walked off to the far end of the debris field and started rummaging through the pile. 

Cosmos didn’t seem bothered. 

“Here,” Cosmos said, handing Soundwave a stack of water-damaged containers. “I don’t think he knows what we’re looking for, anyway.” 

“I heard that,” Prowl snapped. 

“You were supposed to.” Cosmos sat back down and patted the space directly beside him. “Uh. If you want!” 

Soundwave sat. 

Being this close to Cosmos’s mind was very nearly overwhelming. One might have assumed the thoughts and feelings generated by his mind were the opposite of Prowl’s but they  _ weren’t.  _ And that made it all the more intriguing. There was exhaustion and bitterness lacing his very being, coupled with sarcasm that Soundwave badly wanted to laugh at. 

He  _ could,  _ Soundwave realized. There was no one looking over his shoulder, demanding his unquestioning loyalty and complete obedience and a facade of solemnity. He was free. 

Soundwave was free, and he was spending his newfound freedom rummaging through the garbage with Autobots. 

“You okay?” 

Soundwave looked up. Cosmos was elbow-deep in the remains of a rusted data terminal, digging out its memory chips. 

“Yes,” Soundwave said, and it was the truth. “I want to be here.” 

“That’s good?” Cosmos half-asked. “I...I didn’t really think to ask if you  _ really  _ wanted to come. I mean, I know if you didn’t, you would’ve just said so and stayed on Jupiter, but um. Yeah.” 

“I am pleased to be a part of this.” 

Ignoring the  _ FRAGILE  _ glyph that had been hastily stamped on the box’s seal, Soundwave cut open one of the containers. A set of large cylinders stamped with more glyphs lay inside, apparently undisturbed by the corrosive seawater. 

Soundwave popped open one of the cylinders, and a slimy gray mess poured into his hand. Thankfully it seemed inert, displaying no visible reaction to its environment. 

“Huh.” Cosmos leaned over to examine Soundwave’s hand, running his fingers across Soundwave’s palm. “The one I opened was dry. Guess I got a bad batch. Dries fast though.” 

“Or this is the corrupted sample.” The substance was still wet where it touched Soundwave’s armor, but it was coming off dry and chalky on Cosmos’s hand. 

Cosmos’s hand, which was still touching Soundwave’s. 

“Prolonged exposure to Earth’s atmosphere may have provided the catalyst to its expiration,” Soundwave hypothesized, wishing he had the courage to just wipe off his hand and properly lace his fingers through Cosmos’s. He didn’t dare look down at their hands, because Cosmos was already hyperaware of his proximity to Soundwave, and looking down would just  _ ruin  _ it and Cosmos would pull away. “The air may have dried it.” 

“I guess.” Soundwave’s spark wavered as Cosmos scrutinized his hand again. “Need help getting it off?” 

“No,” Soundwave replied automatically, because he technically  _ didn’t.  _

Wrong answer. 

Cosmos pulled away. The hurt was obvious in the tilt of his head, the jab of red-hot embarassment that shot through his mind faster than the speed of light. 

“I apologize,” Soundwave managed. “I do not require assistance. But…” 

And then there was hope. It was tempered by the prospect of rejection, of  _ betrayal,  _ but it was still hope. 

“I will gladly accept your help.” 

“Okay. Yes, I can do that.” Cosmos choked out a breath. “No problem.”

Soundwave watched as Cosmos diligently began scraping the stuff off Soundwave’s hand. The action seemed to accelerate the drying rate, to the point where it just flaked off Cosmos’s fingers as they worked. Soundwave tamped down a shudder as Cosmos’s blocky fingers brushed over sensitive paneling. His systems sputtered, sensory net directing its primary focus to his hand.

_ “Oh.”  _

Soundwave’s self-control wavered dangerously close to the precipice of a verbal tell. His sensory net felt like it was on  _ fire,  _ burning from the tips of his fingers all the way to his spark. 

“It’s protomatter,” Cosmos said. “In the containers.” 

“Protomatter?” 

Thankfully, Cosmos seemed too distracted with his discovery to notice Soundwave’s voice had cracked somewhere in the middle of the word. 

“Protomatter.  _ Sentio metallico.”  _ Cosmos let go of Soundwave’s hand in favor of studying his own. “We found some on Luna-1, when Rodimus ignited the hot spot and—does this mean…” 

“He was trying to create life,” Prowl said. Soundwave hadn’t even heard him approach. “Photonic crystals.” 

Prowl tossed a container at Soundwave’s feet. Indeed, it was filled with photonic crystals—like protomatter, Soundwave had never seen them in person before, but they seemed to  _ sing,  _ humming with untapped life. 

“Synthesizing photonic crystals  _ and  _ sentio metallico?” Cosmos sounded skeptical. “That’s a tall order.” 

“If anyone could do it, it was him.” Prowl sounded almost wistful. 

Soundwave didn’t dare look up at Prowl, but he could  _ hear  _ him. He had seen Mesothulas, of course. And he had seen what Prowl had done, seen who Mesothulas became. What Mesothulas had done.

“Soundwave,” Prowl said. 

Soundwave tried to ignore the note of unease in Prowl’s voice. Prowl knew Soundwave knew what he had done. And Prowl was afraid. Afraid that Soundwave was going to tell Cosmos? Soundwave turned more fully, moving so that Prowl could see his hands and visor. He could do nothing. Or he could comm Prowl and reassure him. 

“Have you located any information on differentiating shifters?” Soundwave asked, instead.

“Possibly.” Prowl held up a datapad. “He  _ was  _ researching shifters. But decrypting the data will take hours. Possibly days.”

“Did your guy—” Cosmos tossed another container into the pile. “How often did he, uh kill people?” 

“Not often.” Prowl knelt, and Soundwave found himself sitting between two Autobots. “Once every thousand years or so. But he’s stuck on an isolated station. Cornered.” 

“You don’t know what he’ll do next,” Cosmos guessed.

“I  _ have  _ calculated every probability of our— _ my— _ suspect’s course of action,” Prowl snapped. “It is most likely he will attempt to escape the station and return to Cybertron.” 

“Why did he go to your station, then?” Cosmos turned to Soundwave. “He knew he would be caught—if Prowl hadn’t shown up,  _ you  _ would’ve heard him eventually.” 

“What Pseudo was counting on,” Prowl said. “Was Soundwave hooking up with another Decepticon. Another Galvatron. Another  _ Megatron.  _ And he would have been free to continue killing. _ ”  _

Soundwave set the box of crystals down. The non-accusation, the simple statement of facts,  _ hurt.  _ Soundwave supposed he deserved it. 

“That was not an incorrect assumption,” Soundwave admitted. 

Cosmos rested his hand on Soundwave’s knee. It was a thoughtless action, Soundwave knew, one that came effortlessly to mechs like Cosmos. But it was never thoughtless to mechs like Soundwave and Prowl. Soundwave was torn between pulling away and leaning closer. 

Soundwave’s comlink pinged. Sky-Byte’s personal hailing frequency, paired with a priority signal.

::Found him. I  _ think.::   _ Sky-Byte’ glyphs were hesitant. Uncertain. ::I’d like to confirm with Prowl.::

“It is Sky-Byte,” Soundwave said. “He believes he has found Pseudo, but would like to confirm. Prowl?” 

Prowl nodded. A quiet beep indicated Cosmos and Prowl had patched themselves through.

_ “I think we might have your mech,” _ Sky-Byte was saying. _ ”I’ve been running our residents through the computer’s databases and the captain of the Peaceful Revolution—Backlight—died in a transwarp explosion two months ago. Of course, by the time you get here, he might have assumed the shape of anyone else.”  _

“Understood.” 

“Lock down the station,” Prowl said. “No one gets in our out.” 

“Except us,” Cosmos said. “Except us. Right?” 

“Confine nonessential personnel to their quarters,” Prowl snapped. “Lock down his ship _.”  _

_ “Um.” _ The discomfort was obvious in Sky-Byte’s voice.  _ “Soundwave?”  _

“Do as he says,” Soundwave said. “I trust him.” 

_ “Acknowledged.”  _ To his credit, Sky-Byte didn’t hesitate. Soundwave hoped that if Prowl  _ did  _ decide to stay, Sky-Byte would continue to be as accommodating. That was a potential conflict for another day. Prowl hadn’t even agreed to stay.  _ “ETA on your return?”  _

All the same, Soundwave scheduled a tentative meeting with Sky-Byte and Prowl. 

“Is there anything else we need here?” Soundwave asked Prowl. 

“Doubtful.” Prowl nodded to the datapad in his hands. “I’ll decode this on the way back to the station.” 

_ “I’ll be here. Sky-Byte out.”  _

* * *

“Prowl.” 

Prowl didn’t bother resisting the urge to glare as he shut off the datapad. What little Prowl had managed to decrypt was notes, observations on Makeshift. That Makeshift had  _ personally  _ known Mesothulas would need to be followed up on, though Prowl doubted anything substantive would come out of it. That  _ Prowl  _ hadn’t known about it was slightly more concerning, but there was a lot about Mesothulas Prowl hadn’t known about. 

“What do you want.” 

Without waiting for further acknowledgement, Soundwave sat. The limited space in the ship meant Soundwave’s knees practically bumped against Prowl’s, a physical contact that was...not  _ unwelcome,  _ exactly. Unexpected. Possibly uncomfortable. 

Prowl supposed he took limited comfort in the knowledge that Soundwave seemed as uncomfortable as he did. 

“I know we have discussed the matter tangentially. I wished to bring it up directly,” Soundwave said. “Would you be amenable to remaining on Sanctuary Station as Chief of Security?” 

Prowl fought the urge to avert his optic and stare at the datapad and its unknowable mess of data. He could practically  _ feel  _ Cosmos and Soundwave gawking. Well, Cosmos was gawking. Soundwave was staring. 

“I apologize,” Soundwave said. “I should have waited until we were in a less confined space. It was not right to bring up the matter when you lacked a way to—” 

“To what?  _ Escape?”  _

Soundwave hesitated, and his gaze wavered for a moment before settling back on Prowl. 

“In a manner of speaking. You—”

“I’m not sure what Cosmos and Optimus have been telling you, but I’m  _ not  _ unstable, and I don’t need to  _ escape  _ anything.” Prowl ignored Cosmos’s protest and continued speaking. “I’m not some delicate newbuild fresh out of the factory, Soundwave. If you have something to say to me,  _ say it.”  _

“I did not mean to imply you were incapable,” Soundwave said. “But it was not right to force the question on you at this time.” 

“Why not?” Were he not certain his helm would hit the ceiling and cause him to look even more foolish, Prowl would have stood, if only to look down at Soundwave. “You had a question. You asked. What does it matter  _ where  _ you asked?” 

“It matters because I respect you.” Soundwave’s voice was louder now—barely, but he was getting frustrated. “I am incapable of rectifying the harm I caused you. But I  _ am  _ able to respect your boundaries.”

“Why?”

“You heard me.  _ Why.”  _

“Because I respect you, Prowl.” 

“ _ Why?”  _

“Primus, Prowl, is it so hard to understand?” Cosmos jumped to his feet, pushing past Soundwave to grab Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl winced at the sudden contact, but Cosmos didn’t pull away. 

Somehow, if he  _ had  _ pulled away, it would have been worse. 

“I don’t need your pity.” Prowl managed to look over Cosmos’s shoulder and glare at Soundwave. “Or yours.” 

“It’s not  _ pity,”  _ Cosmos snapped. “He’s— _ we’re _ treating you like a  _ person,  _ Prowl.”

“And what the hell have I done to deserve that?” 

There was silence for a moment. Long enough for Prowl to regret opening his mouth.

“Primus.” Cosmos squeezed Prowl’s shoulder, and for a second Prowl thought he was going to be pulled into another hug. When Cosmos just stared into his optic, field tight and frustrated against his armor, Prowl felt himself relax, leaning into the contact like some kind of touch-starved turbofox.  “You didn’t  _ do  _ anything, Prowl. You don’t need to.” 

“I don’t need your pity,” Prowl repeated. 

“You don’t,” Cosmos said. “You have my respect.”

“Respect.”

“You have it.” Cosmos rubbed at a patch of dirt on Prowl’s shoulder. “And you need a shower.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes my day! If you like what I write, or want me to write something for YOU (I absolutely love rarepairs), check out my tumblr [@soundwavereporting.](http://soundwavereporting.tumblr.com/about)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the chapter you were looking for. But here it is.

 

This isn't the chapter you were looking for, but here it is: 

99% of my motivation to finish this was lost--the remaining 1% morphed itself into a soft reboot of this fic, [which you can find here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248346/chapters/45772774) I can't express how happy I am that so many people enjoyed this fic and its odd pairing. In the spirit of completion and tying up loose ends, here's what was going to happen in this fic, taken from the draft and brainstorming: 

* * *

 

“I do not need a shower.”

Before Prowl could protest, Cosmos pushed him aside and sat. Prowl ran hot—hotter than any mech Cosmos had met before. He wanted to attribute it to the modifications made to Prowl’s frame; Cosmos remembered the restless nights after his own forced combiner experience, struggling to sleep within the confines of a too-hot, too-small frame.

“Yes, you do.” Cosmos ran a hand over a particularly muddy patch of armor. Prowl was still frowning, but the tension had melted off his frame, leaving him slumped against the bulkhead.

Thankfully, either because he was a telepath, or because he possessed more tact than Cosmos thought, Soundwave seemed to sense the mood. He nodded to Cosmos, then stood and made his way to the pilot’s chair, making an effort to pretend he _wasn’t_ listening.

Cosmos appreciated it.

Cosmos nodded to the datapad in Prowl’s hand. It was bent and scratched, with indentations from Prowl’s fingers.

“Anything interesting?”

Prowl sighed.

“Nothing concrete,” Prowl said. “Mostly hypotheses about the viscosity of Energon in a shifter’s body, but since Makeshift was the only shifter he could compare the control samples to _,_ it’s all conjecture.”

“Interesting,” Cosmos lied. “Can it help us?”

“Probably not.” Prowl frowned at the datapad again and shut if off. “Hopefully, Sky-Byte will successfully manage to contain Pseudo until we arrive.”

“About that.” Cosmos gently pried the datapad out of Prowl’s hands and set it aside. “What are you gonna _do_ when you catch him?”

“Arrest him.”

“After that.” Cosmos leaned back against the bulkhead. “Sanctuary Station doesn’t have the resources to house prisoners indefinitely. They don’t even have a official governing body—no one to decide Pseudo’s fate.”

Cosmos reached out a hand and rubbed at a patch of dried dirt on Prowl’s knee. Prowl sighed, but didn’t move.

“I had hoped…” Prowl crossed his arms. “I had hoped to leverage his capture to my benefit.”

Cosmos wiped the flaky dirt off his hand and considered reiterating his statement about Prowl needing to clean himself off.

“To rejoin the Autobots?” Cosmos frowned. “Would Optimus have gone for that?”

“Doubtful,” Prowl said. “But Starscream would have.”

The notion of Prowl wanting to work with _Starscream_ had his head spinning. Unsure what he was supposed to do with his hands, Cosmos rested them in his lap. Should he put a hand back on Prowl’s knee? Had removing it made it seem like he was pulling away? Or would putting it back make it seem like he was pitying Prowl?

“So you’re gonna go back to Cybertron?”

“I was planning to.”

“But.”

_“But.”_

“You don’t want to.”

Prowl looked down at his knee.

“I don’t know.” Prowl grimaced. Then slowly, he raised a hand and set it on Cosmos’s knee.

“I suppose I don’t need to decide right now.”

“You don’t.” Cosmos spent a full minute wondering if it would be appropriate to put his hand on Prowl’s. Would it give Soundwave the wrong impression? Their interactions on Earth only served to deepen his confusion—Soundwave seemed to recognize Cosmos’s intentions, but then he had gone ahead and tried to cozy up to Prowl. Was he angling for _both_ of them? The notion was so ludicrous, Cosmos had to smother a laugh. Surely he had misremembered something, misinterpreted a gesture—or it was the previous night’s drunken discussion discoloring his perceptions.

“Cosmos?”

Cosmos jumped at the mention of his name. Prowl jerked his hand away—from this angle, Cosmos couldn’t see Prowl’s optic, just the blackened circuitry and the scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, but he knew Prowl would assume _he_ had done something wrong.

“Sorry.” Cosmos offered. “I was, uh. Far away.”

“You were thinking,” Prowl said. “About what?”

Like Pit was Cosmos going to tell Prowl his half-baked suspicions—especially when there was such a high chance he would be laughed at. In front of Soundwave, nonetheless.

“You don’t need to decide right now,” Cosmos said, frantically trying to think of something reasonably intelligent to back up his statement. “Pseudo can sit in a holding cell for a little while until you figure it out. It doesn’t mean you need to accept Soundwave’s offer—if space becomes an issue, you’re more than welcome to stay in my habsuite until you decide.”

Prowl turned to face Cosmos, enough that he could see Prowl’s optic had widened with surprise.

“Really.”

Cosmos thought back to what he had just said and frowned. Had he actually meant it? He had been rambling in order to think of something substantive to say, but he wasn’t actually opposed to living with Prowl. “Yeah.”

Prowl gave a curt nod.

“Do not mistake my reaction for a lack of gratitude,” Prowl said. “I am not opposed, but it has been some time since I have had a roommate.”

“Me too.” Cosmos didn’t move his hand back to Prowl’s knee; the time for that had passed, and he didn’t want to give Prowl the impression he had offered solely because he wanted to get Prowl in bed. “Even when I did, I usually never met them, I was always gone on one mission or another.”

Prowl seemed to relax at that—turning and placing Cosmos back in his blind spot. He hadn’t done that before, Cosmos realized. Ever since he had accosted Cosmos back on Cybertron Prowl had been working to keep everyone in his field of vision. Now, in order to keep Soundwave visible, Prowl was trusting Cosmos not to stab him in the back.

“Do you want to switch?” Cosmos nodded to their positions on the bench. “If it’s easier for you to. You know.”

Prowl’s mouth tightened. It would be a stretch to call it a smile, but it certainly wasn’t a scowl.

“It’s fine,” Prowl said. “I...I trust you.”

When the ship’s computer blurted out their proximity to Sanctuary Station, Cosmos was ungracefully yanked back to reality. He checked his chrono—nearly five hours had passed since Prowl had said he _trusted_ Cosmos, before taking the datapad back and getting lost in the data. Soundwave had been quiet too, focused on something or other on the computer display, leaving Cosmos alone in his thoughts.

“Sky-Byte has initiated docking procedures,” Soundwave was saying. “We will be in the station’s orbit in a moment.”

“Understood.” Prowl was in the middle of reassembling his weapon. “I’ll head to his ship. You and Cosmos get to his quarters. We’ll stay in radio contact.”

“Don’t you think it’d be safer if we stayed together?” Cosmos asked.

“Yes,” Prowl said. “But I am not willing risk Pseudo killing anyone else before we apprehend him. So we need to do this _fast.”_

The ship lurched as the station’s docking sequence initiated, pulling them into its orbit with agonizing slowness. Cosmos’s comlink crackled.

_“Soundwave?”_ Sky-Byte’s voice was tinny and soft. _“Just had a run in with your mech. Only got off one shot, but I think I hit him.”_

Prowl was pacing the ship now, optic fixed on the viewport as the soft hiss signaled the airlock had been successfully depressurized. Cosmos tried to resist the urge to fidget, choosing instead to re-check the

“Where are you?” Soundwave asked.

_“Inside his ship. Docking clamps are locked—he’s not going anywhere, but I can’t get out. Your override codes are the only ones that work.”_

“I will be there in a moment,” Soundwave said.

“I’m going,” Prowl said, when Sky-Byte had ended the call.

“Why?” Cosmos asked, though he didn’t expect an answer. “Haven’t you seen _any_ Earth horror movies?”

Prowl grit his teeth.

“It will take too long to explain,” Prowl said. “But I’m going in Soundwave’s place—while I don’t doubt the ship is locked down, I do not want to take the chance of Pseudo impersonating Soundwave. Cosmos, you stay with him.”

“Prowl, I really don’t think it’s a good—” But Prowl was already gone.

Cosmos let out a frustrated sigh.

“You’re sure you want him in charge of security?”

“I am.” Soundwave inclined his head towards the residential area of the station. “You disagree?”

“Well, no,” Not for the first time, Cosmos was glad he could keep pace with Soundwave as they navigated the halls. “He’ll do a good job. No matter what.”

“But.”

_“But.”_ Cosmos checked his HUD. Backlight—Pseudo—had been assigned the room four doors from their current position. “You sure everyone else will be okay with an Autobot being in charge of their wellbeing?”

“I am in charge of their wellbeing,” Soundwave said. “Prowl has experience in law enforcement, and is able to act as an unbiased party in disputes.”

“Some would call being an Autobot bias enough.” Cosmos pushed the uneasiness in his tanks and took his position beside the door.

“I have faith that they are willing to look beyond his badge.” A quiet hum told Cosmos that Soundwave’s shoulder cannon was online.

“You think he’s in there?” Cosmos asked.

“I am unsure.” Soundwave stood in front of the door, hand resting on the keypad as he typed in the override codes. “Under normal circumstances, I am unable to sense a shifter in their natural state. Once Pseudo successfully imitates a mech, he is able to project neural signals I am able to detect.”

“Right. Okay.” Cosmos wasn’t sure what that all meant, but he was pretty sure it translated to Soundwave being unable to discern Pseudo from a normal mech.

The door slid open.

It was empty. That much was obvious;

> _It's at this point that I had an epiphany, and that epiphany was this: I hate writing action scenes, and this (plus the shaky setup of the antagonist) is what, unfortunately, killed this fic. I had planned to pull a Tolkien and knock Cosmos out for the actual fight, but that just felt...cheap. So, imagine an epic fight or something, with lots of twists and turns, but our trio emerges victorious.  Onward!_

Chapter 10

“You...after all that, you just _gave_ Pseudo to Optimus?”

Cosmos’s surprise was nearly palpable, a sharp sweetness that lingered in the back of Soundwave’s mouth. He wasn’t angry, which was a pleasant surprise.

“Yes.”

Cosmos sighed, and it seemed as though he was deflating, folding in on himself. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he stared at Soundwave with a flat expression.

“Why.”

“A peace offering.” The desire to slip into his traditional, _comfortable_ speech patterns was nearly unbearable, but Soundwave resisted the urge. “On the condition he be responsible for safely transporting Pseudo back to Cybertron.”

“To Starscream.”

“Yes.” Soundwave inclined his head at the viewport. Soundwave wondered if Cosmos could see Cybertron from this distance, though in a moment the station’s orbit would have them facing Earth.

“In exchange for…?”

When he didn’t answer, Cosmos snorted. “I know you, Soundwave. And I know Prowl even better. You two would _never_ do something like that out of the goodness of your sparks.”

This time, Soundwave didn’t resist the urge to smile.

“Indeed.”

“So, what did you get out of it?”

_“Starscream_ will preside over the trial of one of Cybertron’s most infamous murderers,” Soundwave said. “Prime gains further credibility in the eyes of the Camiens, strengthening the relations between the two worlds.”

“Giving Circuit and his news crew something to talk about. Something _other_ than Devastator’s rampage through Caminus.”

> _And after more flirting and awkward, mutual pining, Soundwave goes to Prowl, who's just finishing his first report. Prowl has accepted the position of Security Chief on Sanctuary Station, and there's an air of finality to it: a chapter in his life is closing, but as he hands the datapad over to Soundwave, it's clear that this is just the beginning. I was never sure whether Prowl and Soundwave would have talked this over beforehand, or if Prowl just starts to do the work without preamble, and turning in this report was his acceptance of Soundwave's offer._
> 
> _Regardless of how, Prowl is here to stay._

* * *

So that's how it goes. The actual plot of this fic and its sequels (Soundwave, Cosmos, and Prowl becoming romantically involved) remains unchanged. Everything's been outlined, and it's now a matter of getting the actual initial drafts finished. As always, I can't thank you guys enough for supporting this fic, and I hope you'll give the new and improved one a chance <3

 


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